A short tale of champions, runners-up, and all-weather fandom

Today was a day of highs and lows, and tears of joy and sorrow, all having to do with sports.

I woke up at dawn, still a wee bit tipsy from the previous night’s campfire reunion of friends, and tuned in to the 4th set of Nadal vs. Medvedev in the Australian Open final. Seeing Nadal slog through to victory and the huge grin spread across his face when he realized he had won, you got a glimpse of the pure joy of individual triumph — triumph against age, injury, Covid, and a formidable opponent.

Nine hours later, I sat on the same couch with my son watching the end of the Chiefs AFC championship game against the Bengals. They had first and goal at the 5 under two minutes, we seemed God-destined to win this game in glorious, escape artist fashion, just like we’ve done for as long as my 7-year-old can remember. He went upstairs and fetched the cardboard confetti cannon he made using a craft book instructions, “just in case.” But I could see through the humility, I knew he was expecting to use it and was just waiting until when.

But the win didn’t materialize, and when the Bengals kicked the winning field goal he hid his head under the blanket and cried. “We don’t cry about sports games,” I said, reciting a speech I had rehearsed in my head but, in the moment, had little conviction in. We watched a couple minutes of the postgame handshakes and turned it off on the image of Kelce turning away in defeat.

I had been trying to model good behavior, good sportsmanship, not yelling or complaining or moping, just keeping it steady. But in a way I think my son had the right idea. Cry a bunch all at once, then move on to art projects or Nintendo and go to bed without much of a care. Meanwhile I will be replaying the lowlights in my head until I finally fall asleep, which I suspect is still a ways off.

A valuable lesson, losing. And a whole generation of kids in Kansas City has yet to learn much about it, even though their parents spent decades thinking that’s all there ever was or would be. I should be used to it by now, but remembering how to lose graciously is something you have to relearn. I can’t pretend I wasn’t wrapped up in highlights and analysis and celebrations for the past three weeks, so it doesn’t seem fair to just turn the TV off on a bad loss like it never happened.

We like to call out “fair-weather fans,” or people who only watch when the team is hot or the stakes are high. But that’s really more of bandwagon fandom, which to me has always seemed logical — hot, winning teams are much more fun to watch than losing, long-suffering ones. All-weather fandom is all about how you handle wins and losses, how gracious and composed you can be in both victory and defeat.

I always seem to want to put things in a nice little bow —  a “well we tried” text message, or “not our year” concession, or “back next year” sentiment — but the hard truth is that losing hurts, sometimes for a long time. Yes, football is just a game, but in sports and in life, emotions have to be accepted and processed, and not run away from.

Which takes me back to tennis, and the emotion of the milestone win by Rafael Nadal this morning. Watching him climb up to congratulate his team after this morning’s match, I had flashbacks to his very first title, which I watched live with my great-aunt Marjorie at her home in Amsterdam.

On that day, Nadal’s 19th birthday, the long-haired Majorcan climbed up into the stands to pay tribute to the King of Spain. Marjorie and I knew we were watching something pure, emotional, historical, and when I saw tears in her eyes I realized I did, too.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time we would see each other. I moved back to Kansas City a week later and she passed away the following year. On that day I also had no inkling that 17 years later I would be watching the same champion win a grand slam final with my 7-year-old son, wondering if he had any understanding of why his dad suddenly was emotional to the point of tears.

Sports is a funny thing. So much can happen so quickly. You can experience so many highs and lows in such a short time. But they also bring us together. Whether you’re in the stands, watching at home with friends, or by yourself and sharing game-related texts, the Liverpudlians are right: you’ll never walk alone.

While I enjoy the dopamine of highlight reels and victory Mondays, the joy of watching the Chiefs for me this year has not been the pure high of a chasing a championship  — we experienced that already in 2015 and 2020. It’s been more about seeing a group of people dedicate themselves to a common cause and take a lot of pride and joy in doing their jobs.

So yes, losing hurts. And winning — from what I remember this time last week — can be pretty sweet. But I don’t regret any of it. Even though we didn’t get to unleash the confetti canyons this year, we did our part all season long, cheering and staying hopeful until the very end. And tomorrow, though we may not feel like it, we’ll have to go back to work.