Dealing with the Inner Sports Monster

For a while, I was happy. They were in control, those fabulous gold and purple fellas. A great distance separated them from the green and white invaders, and victory, ever so sweet victory, was in their reach. A win would even everything out, and the Great Prize would be truly in sight.

Then the damn Celtics came back in the third quarter and won the game, leaving a lot of Laker fans pretty P.O.ed. Lucky jerks.

Wait a minute, "damn Celtics"? "Lucky jerks"? What the heck am I thinking? I mean, it's just a game, right? Both teams played their hardest, and in the end, the Boston Celtics earned the Big V. Why should I hate them for doing their jobs?

As I sit here writing this, Game 4 of the NBA Finals has ended. Thanks to some good defense and other stuff, the Celtics now lead 3-1, and as the commentators love to remind us, no team has ever come back from a 3-1 deficit. I admit I'm a wee upset, but I'm feeling much better than before, when I wanted a horde of monsters to rip Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Ray Allen to pieces. Or have them blasted to bits by a giant mech. Or have a black hole swallow them. Or throw them into the sun and watch as their skin gets burned off. You get the picture.

I'll be honest. I'm not into sports. The only games I play are Yu-Gi-Oh! and the occasional video game, and my athletic skills are nonexistent. When my brother took me out to play basketball with his friends, I tended to guard my teammates. I also lack knowledge on the players, their accomplishments, and their statistics--I'm lucky if I can remember the teams and their names, especially on how to pronounce them properly. Despite my athletic ineptitude and my interest in a children's card game, I find myself drawn to sports, especially if a California team, my college alma mater, or an American is involved. I blame this on being male since we're drawn to activities that involve lots of running, throwing, and hitting. The outcome of a game won't affect my routine--that I know for sure.

However, when I sit down and watch my chosen team in action, H.A. Senidal the Nice Guy becomes H.A. Senidal the Sports Fan. I cheer when my favored side does something good. I don't keep it in, I shout my joy and pump my fist in the air. When the other side does something good, the boos fly out of my mouth as fast as they can, and then the negative thoughts shove themselves into my mind. If my side continues to fare poorly, then my Inner Sports Monster takes over. The other team becomes a sworn enemy, and anyone who cheers for them is also the enemy. I want pounds of flesh to be carved from their sorry selves.

My Inner Sports Monster definitely came out during the second half of Game 4. During the first half, I kept saying "yes, yes, yes!" in a manner found only in pornos. I kept thinking, "By God, the Lakers could win and even out the series, and all will be good with the world." I also thought, "No, it's too early, and Boston isn't the best team in the NBA for nothing." My second thought proved to be right--the Celtics started fighting back. They weren't supposed to fight back. They were on L.A.'s turf, they weren't supposed to fight back. Oh, that traitor Pierce! How dare he aid the enemy! How dare those damned Celtics steal the game! Oh, and those commentators! They're to blame as well--they jinxed the Lakers . They kept bringing up how they led by 24, and they ruined L.A.'s night. Oh yeah, and how dare they call Boston's win a comeback. The Celtics have no right to call their won a comeback when they're LEADING THE DAMN SERIES! Grrrr...come forth, Heartless! Come forth, Nobodies! Kill the Celtics! Reduce Boston to rubble! Destroy everything! Plunge everything into darkness!

Okay, calming down now. All right, urge to throw something heavy at the living room T.V. fading, fading, fading...gone.

Yeah, that was pretty much how my brain was going earlier, although I'm sure other Laker fans were thinking more stable thoughts like using a baseball bat to ensure that Pierce wouldn't do another dramatic recovery. After turning off the T.V., I let reason stuff my Inner Sports Monster into the dark recesses of my soul, and I shook my head at how for three hours, I was a monster calling for blood and the heads of Boston's Big Three and the commentators skewered on pikes.

Let's face it, sports--all competition, really--turn us into monsters. If we're not the guys on the ice trying to hit a small disc into the other side's net while smacking around the opposition, we're the guys cheering as the fisticuffs fly. We like to win, whether we're playing or watching, and anyone who claims to not mind losing is a liar. We do mind when we lose, but we have to choices on how to deal with it. We can let the loss sting, study it and accept it as a learning experience, or we can let it fester until it becomes cancerous and let our Inner Sports Monsters take over, inspiring us to tap into the powers of darkness to summon fearsome creatures or build giant robots capable of destroying entire cities. Well, it would if life was more like anime and manga.

Thank goodness for reason. Reason tells me that I can't control everything. Reason tells me that life will continue after Game 4. Reason tells me that life will continue no matter who wins the NBA Championship. Reason tells me that the winners and losers will continue living their lives regardless of the end result. Reason reminds me that members of both teams make more money than I do. Reason reminds me that there are other matters we should be more concerned about like the dangers of extremism of thought. Oh yeah, and reason suggests that all fans out there should remember to cool off and stop badmouthing each others' teams unless they're sure they can beat them on the court.

In the end, when the Finals are mercifully over, I'll be focusing on more important matters such as adding to my anime and manga collection, buying more Yu-Gi-Oh! cards and LEGOs, and finding a steady job and publishing more pieces so I can afford to do those tasks and more. Until then, I hope our Inner Sports Monsters do not gain permanent control over us, and good luck to both teams. They worked their butts off to get to the Finals.

Although, if the Lakers lose, be sure the wonderful system of tubes or a continent is between us for the following five to 60 minutes. You'd be amazed at how much pain a bag stuffed with Yu-Gi-Oh! cards and tins can inflict.