It’s really quite simple. I’ve no interest in sports other than an almost anthropological fascination into man’s tribal behavior. It’s atavistic, primordial and laughable. Grown men and women giving a hoot as to a sports performer’s stats is beyond me. A grown man wearing a jersey with JETER emblazoned on the back. What, are you Jeter? No? Then why are you telling me you are? You’re 46 years-old and you think you’re someone else? You’re a baby. Or at least, you wear another man’s name on the back of a shirt. Does he wear your name on his shirt? I think not.
But it’s a free country. And it is what it is. But this isn’t about the idiocy of professional game watching, it’s about how sports analysts address what amounts to a game. They’re brilliant.
But the analysis is brilliant. In order to weigh in on a sports show you must understand the game, the rules and its history. If not, you’ll be summarily dismissed. You can’t claim mindless allegiance as a substitute for knowledge of the game and its mechanics.
Political talk has nothing to do with facts, history or knowledge. You speak from your heart and arse. When you dare to declaim something your government’s done, proponents of the administration party call you un-American. If you’re disgusted with the Mets management, you’re not called un-Mets. You’re called an astute observer of the game. And there’s no sports version of flag waving. Some dolt standing with a foam finger Number One and his face painted team colors is not given a pass if she knows nothing about the game or the rules.