Sports polygamy is a lifestyle many of us look down upon, but behind closed doors, in places we don’t like to talk about, it is a custom many of us practice.
We justify the duality of our affection in any number of ways. You may love your favourite player and by proxy want his team to succeed, even as you have a local team you will always been loyal to.
Or you might be a long-suffering fan in a market where your favourite team has no shot at postseason glory, so you gravitate towards also following one of the league’s elite in the name of having a rooting interest come playoff time.
Or perhaps the coupling nature of your sports affection comes simply because you have two favourite players, and root for each to succeed.
Ordinarily one can get away with this dual life – so long as you don’t love teams or players that are historical rivals or play within the same division, the two teams vying for your affection rarely meet, so you are not often forced to choose a side.
But what about those ‘perfect storm’ moment where you have to do precisely that? How do you choose a side? How do you resolve this moral conflict?
I ask this more in the usual hypothetical sports writer method than presenting a point of debate without a clear resolution. I ask this as a fan, faced with precisely this problem. It is a problem of my own making, but one that is nonetheless killing me inside.
Maybe rehashing the specifics of this case of cheating hearts can lead to some sort of resolution…
As a child born in the mid-1980s, I was too young to bare witness to the youthful brilliance of Michael Jordan, or the historical rivalry of Larry Bird and Magic Johnson. I have, of course, learned an enormous amount about this era, and truthfully all eras of the game I love so much, but have had to do so retroactively.
As great as it is to watch documentaries and old game footage, or pour over a narrative as excellent as David Halberstam’s “Breaks of the Game,” I cannot replicate watching the icons of yesteryear live. Their careers are finite and can be assessed as complete bodies of work.
Even Jordan, who I revered above anyone for much of young life, practiced his craft before I could really appreciate it. While I distinctly remember seeing him play live in 1997 and staying up past my bedtime to watch him play during his 1998 swan song series, I was only 12 when he stepped away from the game.
Thus, my hero growing up did not ply his trade in Illinois, but in Los Angeles. My father got me a Kobe Bryant jersey in 1996 after his Dunk Contest win, and there was no looking back. I had my idol, and the icon I would admire through my basketball playing life. Kobe’s brilliance captivated my imagination in a way no player – not Vince, not Shaq, not Webber – would ever approach.
As I grew older, I became (against all odds) more neutral and objective to the idea of other players’ greatness. As I began to pride myself on my openness to new ideas and views of the world outside of basketball, the last thing I wanted was to practice tunnel vision in my allegiance to one player or team and be ‘sport-ignorant.’ I became more and more aware that Kobe was not necessarily my role model, and that my fanatical appreciation for his game had little or nothing to do with him as a person.
Yet he was the horse I hitched my wagon to, and try as I might, I still have moments where I am a Kobe apologist to an almost a laughable degree. Sue me. I have stuck by him for far too long to suddenly pretend I can be unbiased when discussing him.
All of that said, he was not the only player I studied obsessively throughout my amateur career. As I mentioned above, I quickly opened myself up to allegiances beyond the purple-and-gold, and had rooting interests beyond Shaq and Kobe.
I would study Tim Duncan’s footwork and try to incorporate various post moves I learn from studying his film. I tried to pattern my game after CWebb’s offensive versatility and skilfulness. And I spent incalculable hours wishing I had the court vision of my other hero, Steve Nash.
It cannot be overstated how important Nash was to players my age. Every Canadian high schooler I ever played with or against revered him, and saw him as proof that we were not just a nation of hockey goons, but that we could play this game just as well as anyone else. He was a shining example of what we all hoped to become, and a favourite son to an entire nation of players. Even more so than his incredible play and superstar status in the game, it is Nash’s character that has made him such a great ambassador for the game. Not to mention, an ambassador for our country. If I ever have a son, Nash is the one player I would point to and want him to aspire to be, both on and off the floor. His play may have made him a household name and a hero to Canadian ball players, but it’s his humility and intelligence that have made him a role model.
So where does that leave me? Nash is my countryman, and maybe the one player I respect more than Bryant on sheer basketball merits. He deserves to be remembered as a champion, and he is closer than ever to making that a reality. Yet Bryant was my boyhood idol, and his singular drive and commitment to winning at any cost should be admired by any competitive person. Another title elevates him legitimately into the conversation of best player ever, something I have waited to see since I was 13 years old.
Perhaps the best answer on whom to root for is none of the above. Rather than hope for a particular outcome, it might be best just to sit back and take in the games as they happen, and realize that I will be satisfied by either outcome. Sometimes it is the journey that matters…
Oh hell. What fun is that? I’m in Nash’s corner for now, and will adjust as necessary.