Whenever I attend an academic conference or visit a city to do some research, I must always deal with incredulous locals. "You came here to visit a library?" they will ask, looking at me as though I just arrived from Mars. On my recent trip to Chicago, however, I experienced something unique. By tacking on an afternoon at Soldier Field, I won the approval -- and understanding -- of every man and woman I encountered along the way. "Oh, you're here to see the Bears," they would exclaim with pride. "You came all the way from Canada for a football game!"
Although I am a huge NFL fan, buying heartbreak in January 2008 in exchange for having followed many mediocre New England Patriots teams, I had never gone to an actual game until last weekend. It was a fabulous experience. Forget for the moment that the sluggish home team had the advantage of playing the Cleveland Browns, one of the worst teams to take the field for years. The sheer spectacle was unforgettable. When you watch football on television, everything is so focused, so directed. In person, there is simply so much going on that you can never be bored. Sitting in the "nose-bleeds" high above Lake Michigan, I can imagine how one might die of exposure, but no one is dying of boredom.
At that height, having to scale steps that reach up almost horizontally, there is a comradeship amongst patrons. Even the friendly rivalry between Bears and Browns fans seemed extremely playful. "I left my sombrero in the car," said one guy from Cleveland, seeing a local in a Bears pancho. Upon spotting another wandering fellow dressed up as a beer keg, someone else called out, "Hey, how about coming as a guy who can find his seat!" I was surprised only at the callousness of a group of medical students behind us, young men who commented about one aged gentleman, "I'm not (yet) a doctor, but that guy should stay home!" Come on, should we question even a very old fan's right to partake? And, anyway, he was hardly the worst physical specimen at the game. "Chicago," I heard another out-of-towner say, "is the only NFL city where the fans wearing jerseys are bigger than the players!" That might be true: there seem to have been a few deep-dish pizzas consumed on the grounds that day.
What I do not understand, though, is why alcohol consumption plays such a big role at athletic events. I am no stranger to a drink now and then, but I cannot fathom why someone would want to get wasted at a football game, where you come to see and remember -- and where beers cost nearly eight bucks. A fellow in front of us, already feeling no pain as he ascended the steps, arrived with two in his hands. His companion had two herself. When friends arrived, they brought more for this gentleman, and he bought more from vendors and got up, at one point, to secure a fresh supply. By the beginning of the fourth quarter, he was giving them away. With a couple of minutes left, in celebration of a great defensive play, this guy jumped up and proceeded to tumble forward two rows. "I'm just trying to have a good time!" he grinned to all around him, at which point he threw a nearby glass into the concrete beneath his feet: his own end zone "spike." Beer splattered everywhere, and the fellow and his friends retreated down the steps in shame. They left before the game was over.
Whether you love how we organize ourselves economically or whether you loathe it, you must admire how our system can bind to itself people with varied financial interests. The owner of the Cleveland Browns was at the game on Sunday, so appalled by his team's performance that he fired his general manager soon after. A young woman not there was a clerk at Borders who was so excited to hear that I was going to the game that she forgot to demagnetize my purchase, causing me no end of trouble in other stores. "You're going to see my boys!" she squealed. "I haven't been able to afford to buy a ticket yet this year, but I love my boys. I'm worried that they played so badly last week, but you're so lucky to be going."
Lucky I am. But so are the Bears, a team that commands such loyalty. I also get the sense that the fragile fabric of American society is pretty lucky, too. In spite of all the open dissent you see, hear, and read, its citizens hang on to the shreds of those few things that bind them together. A common spectacle, shared by those at the top and the bottom of the economic ladder, keeps those whose interests are mutually exclusive from acting out their frustrations -- at least when the home team plays.
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