I’ve lived in the Chicagoland area since I was three years old. My parents both went to local high schools, my grandfather still lives in the house where my mom grew up, and pictures of the city make me glow with pride. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them wholeheartedly that it’s the greatest city in the world. I love deep-dish pizza, the Seurat at the Art Institute, and that song about losing your blues.
So the World Series this year was pretty exciting—even as someone who most of the time couldn’t really care less about baseball. (Honestly, when someone says “Wrigley Field,” the first thing I think about is usually the Dave Matthews Band live album that was recorded there.) But my dad’s been root-root-rooting for the Cubbies for forever, and knowing that history was being made in my city, that the victory we’ve all been waiting for was happening in my city, was enough to get me excited.
Watching the championship game, a couple different people made a point every time one of the teams scored to ever-so-helpfully point out that some of the people in the audience happened to be “bandwagon fans,” who didn’t actually care about one team or the other until the started to do really well. They talked about it like some negative thing, as if their enthusiasm was invalid, as if they hardly had the right to watch this baseball game. It made me super sad.
For me, cheering on the Cubs was hardly about the sport anyway. My friend Eleanor said it best when Tim Kaine came to speak at Kenyon a few weeks ago: “I might cry. I get really emotional when huge groups of people agree on things.” There’s something really really amazing about not only being excited, but getting to be excited surrounded by other really excited people. There’s such a beautiful kind of connection that comes from people sharing their happiness and enthusiasm, and for me, that’s what I wanted to be a part of when the Cubs won. I don’t claim to love baseball, but I love my city, and even more than that, I really love people, and I really love when people really love things, no matter what they are or even whether or not I can relate to them.
I don’t totally understand what it is about some people that makes them think they can claim others are “fake fans.” As if to be enthusiastic about something first you have to go through some kind of Fan Initiation to be officially allowed to like that something. It’s not just baseball. I’ve heard people accuse others of being “fake” over bands, books, tv shows, sports teams, movies, artists—anything and anyone that can be liked, really. It’s never made sense to me why loving some things turns into a competition, instead of an opportunity to connect.
At the end of October my senior year of high school, I woke up at around five in the morning to drive to Milwaukee and see a band that I really loved live. My friend Sylvie and I sat in line basically the entire day to be able to get near the stage, and honestly? The waiting was almost more fun than the concert itself. Because we had at least one thing in common with every single other person in line with us: we really loved music, and more specifically, we really loved the band we were about to see. We kept making more and more new friends the entire day as we talked and joked and complained about the cold and sang together. It was over a year ago, and there are still a couple people I met in line that day that I talk to pretty regularly, that I could consider good friends because of our shared experience. They’re people I open up to, share good news with, and know I can turn to for support whenever I need it. I don’t even listen to the band that much anymore. It doesn’t matter. We took the shared love we knew we both had and we used it to build a connection and a relationship that I’m really thankful I was able to make.
It’s not a threat when somebody else says that they also love something you love. It’s never an invitation to see who knows more about the thing, who’s been following the thing for the longest, who’s dedicated the most of their time and attention and energy into the thing. It’s a door opened wide into a chance to get to know somebody better, a chance to get to see what else the two of you may have in common. It’s a chance to show love. In the world we’re living in right now, with so much fear and intolerance in so many other places, we can’t afford to be contributing to the hate. We’ve heard it over and over, but maybe it’s worth repeating again: “united we stand, divided we fall.” It’s a beautiful thing to find out that somebody else is more alike to you than different. The universe is literally dropping the opportunity to make a friend into your lap, which is the kind of opportunity I really think should be taken every single time.
Image credits: Annmarie Morrison, Megan Smith