By now, we take it for granted. But do you ever wonder how there is enough public interest to support so many around-the-clock sports networks? ESPNs are multiplying like Rocky sequels and there is even a channel devoted exclusively to golf. The most obvious explanation is that the public enjoys watching the world’s best athletes clash, stretching themselves beyond their physical limits. It is like televised warfare without the death and maiming (but not quite like American Gladiators – which, if I remember correctly, was an awesome show).

 

But it seems to me that, on a metaphysical level, the reason sports programming has been so popular for so long is because it is essentially the only reality TV we trust (except for scripted Super Bowls, which are, ironically, quite boring). Sports are comprised of real people, exhibiting real emotions. While players are undeniably motivated by salaries that rival the GNP of a handful of third world countries, neither the jubilee following a walk-off homer nor the relief pitcher’s tears are prompted by a potentially affected income. The drama of sports is based on victory and defeat, pride and shame, the stuff of humanity. In addition to regularly exhibiting your proverbial blood, sweat, and tears, sports provide the perfect frame for great stories.

 

Confession: I went through a professional wrestling phase.

 

Wait!  Don’t stop reading yet. There is a point.

 

Professional wrestling is scripted, contrived, rigged, and I know I’m missing something… oh yeah, fake. Either way, I was, for a period, addicted. After a year or so, it finally occurred to me that more than half of the two-hour Monday night show was comprised of wrestlers talking into a microphone. It was Meet The Press on steroids. The fans’ emotions hinged more consequentially on the one-syllable words escaping Stone Cold Steve Austin’s mouth than when he got himself suplexed from the top rope. The story behind the action was more compelling than the action itself. (The point emerges).

 

If you watch Fox Sports Net, one of the ESPNs, or any other sports network at any given moment, you are more likely to see highlights, player interviews or people engaged in discussions than an actual sporting event. The public is riveted by the stories behind the action and delights in watching athletes either make fools of themselves or start organizations.

 

Sports utterly consume the lives of professional athletes. Every year, someone plans to leave the game “and spend more time with his/her family.” Clemens came back, Lemieux came back, Jordan came back twice, and that is just a highlight reel. It is hard to say if sports suck the life out of these athletes or inject it back in them. Either way, their lives seem to be almost irrevocably dominated by the professions that made them famous. This happens to be why 19-year-old superstars take so long to grow up (you’re getting there, Kobe), and yet another reason the individual stories of athletes are so incredibly enthralling.

 

Ask anyone who their favorite player is. Nobody will automatically respond by naming the best player in the league. There is always more to it. People like Tom Brady because he seems like a really nice guy. The same goes for Payton Manning, or Barry Sanders. The same goes for athletes we abhor, like Jeremy Shockey, for instance – a tight end who stole my name, plays for a rival franchise and acts like a pompous jerk every time he makes a catch. Then there’s Terrell Owens, who I adored for exactly one season because he was hilarious and helped my team win. Now I loathe him because I have come to terms with the reality that he is a wretched teammate, which brings me to my next point.

 

The world of sports gives you the opportunity to patronize a team, to make it your own, to actually involve yourself in a story that was thought to have only existed among immortals.

 

Having lived in Philadelphia for most of my life, I understood from about the age of nil that home teams are a serious part of life. As Ed Harris put it in The Truman Show, I accepted the reality I was given - after the Joe Carter home run in ‘93 that sent the Phillies packing in Game 6 of the World Series, the Red Wings’ sweep of the Flyers in the ‘97 Stanley Cup Finals, the Lakers’ virtual-sweep of the Sixers (aside from a misleading victory in game 1) in the 2001 NBA Finals, and let’s not forget the Eagles’ trifecta of NFC championship losses followed by a Super Bowl loss that is still smarting, I’ve realized that it is no mystery why I’ve been depressed my entire life.

 

Even still, I love my teams. Why can’t I let go? I don’t know. I just can’t. No matter where I happen to be residing when one of my teams wins a championship, I will be in Philly for the parade.

For those who are attached to sports, life is filled with both upsets and surprises. Upsets occur when the SuperSonics win a game. A surprise occurs when you were on the couch watching a game with somebody you thought you knew until he/she got up and went to the bathroom with two minutes left on the game clock and out of nowhere you were forced to reassess the nature of the relationship.

 

Aside from a substantial portion of professional athletes, we all have lives outside of sports. We have relationships, jobs, and obscure hobby-horses we are too ashamed to mention. These are the important things. But sports are an altogether separate reality that will, thankfully, always be there. For as long as athletes remain human and the games unscripted, sports networks will continue to talk about them while we sleep. By now we should all realize that viewers will never let go of the most authentic and enthralling reality TV ever aired.