Will Leitch, the founder of Deadspin, recently published an article for NY Mag entitled “It Might Be Impossible to Be an Ethical Sports Fan” in which he captures how confusing sports fandom has been in recent years. He describes the joy of watching Jason Collins become the first openly gay NBA player, the “mental gymnastics” required to root for the outspokenly transphobic Lance Berkman and homophobic Daniel Murphy, and the relief felt when the Chicago Cubs historic 2016 World Series win did not culminate with domestic abuser Aroldis Chapman on the mound. However, while Leitch sets up the problem admirably, he and I come to drastically different conclusions regarding the future of sports fandom. Leitch writes:
“Being a sports fan is itself a compromise of ethics, in mostly small ways, but real ways nevertheless. How much you are willing to tolerate is the decision every sports fan has to make. Cubs fans might not like having Daniel Murphy on their team any more than I might not like having Lance Berkman on my team. But they like the Cubs, for whatever reasons they might like the Cubs: They grew up with the Cubs, they were inspired by their championship two years ago, they got drunk at the Cubby Bear once. If they are willing to give that up because there is a player on their team with loathsome views or an ugly personal history, or an owner (say) that gave a million dollars to elect Donald Trump, I sincerely salute their commitment to ethical sports fandom, a commitment that will require them never to watch sports again.”
The type of fandom that Leitch is describing is a blindly loyal one, an unwavering allegiance to one team above everything else, where the only thing that matters is their success. Naturally that approach doesn’t lend itself to ethical behavior, as blind allegiance to any person or institution rarely does.
The question then becomes: Is it possible to cheer mostly for your home team, but also root specifically for or against certain players on the team based on the content of their character? Could, for instance, a lifelong Cubs fan root against their shortstop Addison Russell, with his history of physical and emotional abuse, and root for Sean Doolittle of the rival Washington Nationals for his fierce advocacy and activism, while still maintaining their Chicago fandom?
Isn’t that what the roughly 60 million Americans who play fantasy sports do every single day?
As our society continues to move towards hyper-personalization, so too does our sports fandom. Growing up, my family would eagerly await each nationally televised Red Sox game (we didn’t have cable), and then crowd around the TV together to cheer for our hometown heroes. Today I can watch any game I want on any number of devices, including multiple games at once. There are even websites where viewers can program in their fantasy team lineup, and it will automatically “channel surf” between games, so you can watch all of your players’ at-bats. But while managing a fantasy team can give us a feeling of agency, we have about the same impact on the the actual games as we do while watching any other TV show, which is to say: None.
This is something that’s taken me a long time to fully internalize—that, despite what we may have believed as children, our rooting has no impact on the game. I once wore the same T-shirt for two weeks straight because I believed it was helping the Red Sox win playoff games. By the end, it smelled very, very bad. This was October 2004, and while that month did indeed culminate in a Red Sox championship, I can now admit that they would have won no matter what I was wearing at home.
Every sports fan is probably prone to some level of cognitive dissonance—we desperately want to believe that our rooting has some, albeit small, impact on the field. But if we accept that our feelings don’t actually affect the results, a whole new landscape of rooting possibilities emerges. Having a favorite team no longer needs to mean a blanket support of every member of that team. Watching sports becomes much like watching Game of Thrones: You can want good things to happen to your favorite characters (and vice versa), but that doesn’t mean it’ll happen.
These days when I watch baseball it takes a little more effort, a little more nuance, than when I was younger. As my family has grown and I’ve moved from Boston to New York to Los Angeles, I’ve developed affinities for more clubs than just the Red Sox. Through an excessive number of fantasy baseball teams, I’ve accumulated irrational love for dozens of players across the league. And as movements such as Black Lives Matter and Me Too have brought their spotlight to professional sports, I’ve developed opinions on players totally independent from where, or how well, they play.
So, while trying to root only for players who share my political beliefs is likely unfeasible (and unnecessary), it’s quite possible to cheer for a team while booing their pitcher who was recently suspended for domestic violence. If they lose because of his failures on the mound, it’s still a fulfilling fan experience. It’s just a different one. And like any new endeavor, it takes some getting used to. I can no longer just turn off my brain for nine innings and take my cheering cues entirely from the crowd. Now I’m invested in every moment of the game on a whole new level. It’s still sports fandom, and it’s still fun.
But also, it doesn’t matter what outcome I’m rooting for. While I was writing this article Aroldis Chapman struck out another batter. So then, if our rooting doesn’t make a difference, what will? How is it possible to be a truly ethical sports fan?
Through action.
If you look up to Jason Collins as a role model and cringe at Daniel Murphy’s homophobia: Donate to the Trevor Project. If you’re disgusted by Roberto Osuna’s domestic assault: Look up your local women’s shelter and offer to volunteer. If you admire Colin Kaepernick for his bravery in the face of adversity: Put up a Black Lives Matter sign in your window and be prepared for the uncomfortable, important conversations it might spark with your friends and family. If you think it’s gross that your favorite team uses a crude Native American caricature as their logo: Find out if your bank is helping to fund the Dakota Access Pipeline and move your money to an institution that isn’t.
And when all else fails, never underestimate the power of a targeted boycott.
While I’m still able to maintain my baseball fandom (although I haven’t worn my Houston Astros hat since their handling of the Roberto Osuna case), I reached a point a few years ago where I could no longer keep watching NFL games with a clear conscience. It wasn’t a matter of picking which players to root for and against; the entire league’s behavior seemed beyond the pale. Now, as the NFL grapples with its diminishing popularity, I’m enjoying living in an era when we have greater access to sports across the globe than ever before—there are no shortage of viewing options for the modern-day sports fan.
Do something, do anything; but don’t just throw your hands up in the air and say “it’s too hard, I give up.” For those who are willing to expand their idea of what sports fandom can be, I sincerely salute your commitment to an ethical sports fandom, a commitment that will enable you to watch sports whenever your want, however you want, with no compromise.
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Matt Bogdanow is an educator, performer, and author of the instructional drumset method book, The Backbone of Drumming. After graduating from Berklee College of Music in 2005, Matt moved to Brooklyn, where he spent 8 years (including one as Brett’s roommate) teaching and performing music. Now in Los Angeles, he continues to work with underserved youth, while also fronting the rock band, The Polar Quest and co-hosting the podcast Clearing The Que.
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Edited by Brett Goldberg & Carrie Morrisroe
