“Why has (sport) become so obsessive a pleasure for so many of us? It seems clear to me that a primary attraction of the sport is the opportunity it gives to release aggression physically without being arrested for felonious assault.” — Nat Hentoff, an American historian, novelist, jazz country music critic, and syndicated columnist
I do claim the professional sports teams of Detroit as my own. I was born in Detroit, and lived in the area charmingly known as Downriver Detroit until pursuing higher education (yes, it was the ’60s) at Grand Valley. I’ve always liked the Lions and the Tigers and the Red Wings and the Pistons – and I still do. Yet it wasn’t until I became a parent and my son took an interest that I began to appreciate the benefit of having teams with whom to identify.
Admittedly, fanship can be overdone, and we see this from time to time. Any sort of fanaticism can be problematic, but obsessing about a sports team is generally harmless. I have a cousin whose husband has a room devoted to collectible materials celebrating the athletic programs of the University of Michigan. You might think he developed his affinity by attending school there. He didn’t.
I also think of a Marine Corps friend from Alabama who gets a little worked up over the fortunes of ‘Bama. Roll Tide, JP.
Similarly fervent, two men I met in an airport on my way to Bonaire were quick to tell me that LSU is the team to be loved, not the Alabama Crimson Tide. They sang for me a little ditty about ‘Bama that was too crude for a public space at an airport. I won’t favor my readership with the lyrics – because I know our careful and tasteful editor would find it too offensive for gentle readers of “Townbroadcast”.
Our son had the good fortune to grow up with an appreciation for sportsmen playing for Detroit teams. One of his favorites was Joe Dumars, the stellar guard for the Pistons. Dumars played very well, at both ends of the court. He was the only man in the NBA who could check Jordan one on one. Jordan would get his points, while taking lots of shots, but the Pistons d
idn’t have to double team him. And Jordan had to expend a great deal of energy checking Dumars when the Pistons were on offense. Dumars was on the team, but he did not exemplify the Bad Boys concept. While very accomplished, he was modest and rather soft spoken about his achievements.
Barry Sanders was also a man who played well and didn’t seem to need to draw attention to himself. He was another of my son’s favorites. Instead of doing an elaborate touchdown dance after scoring, Sanders would return the ball to the official and rejoin his teammates. If Barry Sanders had played behind the Dallas Cowboys offensive line he would have rushed for 3000 yards. He didn’t whine. He didn’t ask to be traded. He played with full effort, and behaved as the consummate professional he always was.
At about this same time, Steve Yzerman was playing for – starring for – the Detroit Red Wings. During his career the Wings were bad, and the Wings were good. Yzerman gave great effort, whatever the situation. Not a bad example for youngsters wanting to learn how one conducts oneself.
The Tigers had Alan Trammell, a shortstop who could hit. Not a hotdogger, not a whiner. Yet again, our son seemed to consistently select a sports favorite that stood out not only for his accomplishments, but for his conduct.
In my boyhood, Al Kaline was the Tiger I liked.
Our son is a good man. He deserves the credit for that. But I think that having good role models contributed in some small way.
