Humility is something hard earned by most fans. The cycle of fandom works something like this in most instances:
1. The Glorious Attraction. The initial stage in infatuation when the budding fan latches on to the shiny thing of a team during a glory period, drawn to them irresistably by a team’s panache, geographical relevance, or sheer ability to grind opponents’ bones into powder. A heady, painless bliss of victories and bowl games, lasting as long as the period of team dominance but often longer. Side effects include conflation of personal goals and aspirations with team performance (”I got laid on the same day Leinart threw five tds, dude*. Coincidence? I think not…”) , deification of head coach or key players, and a pleasant, vaseline-on-the-lens glow around associated memories.
2. The Great Earthening. The second stage, where the revered team suffers through an extended patch of mediocrity, and the fan endures extreme shame and agony in the name of Liken said stage to point in relationship where you discover wonderful, hellcat-in-sack girlfriend pulls all the hair out of her head when stressed and has troublesome substance abuse problem. The Great Earthening describes the process where the fan discovers gravity, hitting earth with shocking force as their team drops home games to formerly lowly rivals, loses all sense of flair or identity, and hires someone for the head coaching position by pointing randomly at the phone book until someone accepts. Side effects include heavy drinking, development of additional life activities referred to as “hobbies, ” and increased time spent with family and significant other.
Zook. Callahan. Davie. Hackett. Goff. Pain.
3. The Levelling. The third and final stage sees the dedicated fan return to stasis as their team redeems itself with renewed excellence and a new probity for the fan. Yes, the team needs you; but doubt and skepticism forever spoils the air of invincibility for you, and your fandom is a leveraged, cautious one. The fan treats every player as an unknown quantity from game to game, waiting for every walk-on to sprout wings and carry their team to victory, expecting every blue-chipper to grow horns and play the part of the goat. The Levelled fan expects nothing and watches all with the cold eye of someone who was burned by the fantasy of their youthful ardor and does not wish to endure the pain a second time. Victory is not as sweet, but losses, since they could come at any time, are less painful. Humility, even in small doses, is a constant.
Consider us properly levelled fans in that we, after watching Florida win a convoluted shootout with the Vanderbilt Commodores Saturday night, were cautiously ecstatic. Yes, that was Vandy out there throwing for 350 plus on our secondary. Woody Widenhofer Vandy. Gerry DiNardo Vandy. You know, Vandy Vandy. That was Vandy who came a horrific celebration penalty away from tossing a nearly certain two-point conversion and making Florida drive the length of the field in less than two minutes to win the game. Vandy, on Saturday night, nearly beat Florida at home. Moral victories suck ass, but Commodores, you may claim one anyway. You were a blown call and a 2-point play away from pulling off the upset of the millenium thus far.
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