A lot has been going on, if you couldn't tell by the lack of new blog posts. The first Bruins preseason game is in a week. My birthday is three days away. All my plans for the future might be for not. These things are related. What better way to commemorate it all than to wax poetic about a multi-million dollar industry that will always have influence over me, no matter what I do?
I bought a Bruins jersey. If you want the CliffsNotes, you got them; that's it. My relationship with sports has been long and sordid, from screaming my way out of countless childhood teams to waiting (not so) patiently through inning after inning of my brother's minor league games. The most important part, though, is location. Of course sports got to me in the end because what other option did I have. If you knew my birth story then it would all make sense.
My (genuine, intentional) love of sports started because of my high school job as a waiter, when I needed something mindless to sit in front of while I ate my 10pm dinner of Frosted Flakes and seltzer. As much as I used to hate them, sports were an anchor at a time when everything in my personal life was going to shit. Me and my father could watch a game in silence, and for a couple hours it would all be okay. Another factor was moving. I'll be honest, I never believed that I would leave the state, and in a way, I never will. Team loyalty binds me to everything and everyone I care about. Summers are harder, when the only on-going season is baseball, which I still haven't learned to love. Instead, I turn to documentaries, interviews, and highlight reels. And Brad Marchand. Always Brad Marchand.
It's the most natural thing in the world to become attached to athletes. From birth, we're taught that they're the pinnacle of physical prowess, earn ridiculous amounts of money, and can fuck whoever they want. We put their names on our backs in an effort to be them. One less injury and we could have gone pro, you know? But why do those athletes also become a symbol of our cities? Almost every major league player has been, or will be, traded. It's almost unheard of for a player to get signed to their childhood team. They have nothing to do with us, yet we invite them into our favorite mom-and-pop delis, our statehouses, our living rooms. Like the jerseys, we'll do anything to make them more like us because that means we're like them.
For better or worse, Marchand is who I've come to associate with Boston. He's a fighter, always the underdog, not meant to be a long term investment, yet he's outlasted everyone who deserved it more. He gave up fighting (the only thing he's good at) to hang on a little longer. So I've bought his jersey, and come next week, I'll be the one stealing his name. I'll steal his glory too, whether that be by association when he hoists up the Stanley Cup in front of thousands of screaming fans, or by force when he retires with nothing to show for years of trying.
Turn on a game. I'd say turn on the Bruins, but I'm a big proponent of rooting for your local teams. There's a certain comfort in accepting your fate. Brad Marchand would agree.
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