Fan vs. Writer: the Eternal Struggle

One of the first things I learned six years ago when I started studying journalism was "Leave your fandom at the door."

It was a simple enough concept; someone professionally credentialed to cover an athletic event, on any level, with the purpose of later relaying the game's events to an audience should, upon entering with press pass in hand, leave all allegiances and feelings at the door. The only rooting one need do when a sports writer is for good storylines and quick games (we all have deadlines, you know).

At first, I wasn't sure I could do it. I got my start covering sports for the campus newspaper at Old Dominion University, ''The Mace & Crown''. So here I was, someone intimately passionate about the school I was attending, embarking on a profession in which I would have to train without rooting for my favorite athletic teams.

No sitting courtside drung basketball games and hollering over a tie-breaking 3-pointer.

Oddly enough, though ... it happened. I quickly learned to shelf my emotions and just focus on the action on the field (or court, or diamond, or track ...). Whatever I felt was gone when I was working; instead, all I did was write what happened, use quotes where appropriate and become familiar with the idea of using statistics to help make arguments.

And over the years, the fan-writer conflict has bled over into the sports I don't cover, but merely watch as a fan. Baseball, football ... it doesn't matter. My highly-opinionated fan's eye has been clouded by the non-judgemental lens of the sports writer.

The Baltimore Orioles suffered through their 10th straight losing season, in the process firing manager and pitch coach (after the fact). Rather than throw my black-and-orange Orioles cap to the ground in disgust and booing the on-field product (or even the owner signing the checks from his skybox), I tried looking for hows, whys and ways to fix things.

Washington grabbed defeat from the jaws of victory Sunday at Green Bay, blowing a winnable game against the Packers. But while my friend Kenny cursed and groaned and threw his Redskins hat at the TV, I just ... watched.

This isn't to say I no longer love sports; it's obvious I still do (as often as I visit this site and I've chosen to make my living in sports). But my outward passion has been subdued over the years, replaced by a stoic professionalism I learned in the press box and now can't get rid of. My enjoyment of sports hasn't dwindled, it's just ... changed.

Well, for the most part. I still get pretty riled up at a NASCAR race.

I don't know if it's the adrenaline or the sheer passion I have for and against certain drivers, but I cannot be stoic during a NASCAR race. That is, I can't just sit there and watch things unfold without letting an emotional reaction or two take me over. I cheer loudly for the drivers I like, I boo mercilessly for those I hate.

Saturday night at the Bank of America 500 at Lowe's Motor Speedway, any and all professionalism I felt left the minute the ticket lady took my stub. When Matt Kenseth had problems, I cheered. When Tony Stewart ran into Kasey Kahne on pit road, I hollered and screamed at him as if he could hear me. I rallied and cried for Clint Bowyer as he surged to the front and I can't even repeat some of the things I shouted when Ryan Newman shot to the lead late, only to spin out and not win.

It seems NASCAR is my fandom's last reserve.

I want to cheer on my Redskins, feel confident that at 3-2, they have a shot at not stinking '''quite''' so bad this year. But the sports writer in me tempers that, leaving me to watch the games, feel a twinge of emotion over what goes on, but ultimately analyze and break down the hows and the whats, not the "Woohoo!" and the "Here we go, boys!"

I love sports; always have, always will. And there are still times where I have a strong opinion that I have to deliver, regardless of my professional standing or what my job might be doing to the rest of my sporting life. I still cheer, I still boo, just not as ... adamantly as before.

Unless we're talking cars driving fast in circles. Then I'm as passionate and animated as Jenna Jameson.

Only my passion's real.

Memo to Cubs Fans

So the Chicago Cubs made the playoffs this year. Well, whoop-dee-f*@#ing doo; has Hell frozen over yet?

Oh, that's if they win the World Series, never mind.

I've made my hatred for the New York Yankees no secret on this site, but I haven't made so much noise about my other least favorite team, the (for some reason) beloved Cubbies. And that was mostly because I thought they were irrelavant, not likely to challenge for October baseball, let alone actually be taking part in it.

But since they are, I have a message for those who inexplicably follow the North-Siders:

LEAVE BARTMAN ALONE!!!

Before I explain the above, let me say that I don't hate Cubs players or coaches. I think Lou Piniella has done a fine job getting that team into contention and some of those players are really All-Star caliber -- I'm talking mostly Alfonso Soriano, Aramis Ramirez, Derrek Lee and Carlos Zambrano. So my problem isn't with the on-field unit, the 25 guys who suit up and day in and day out to play this game I grew up loving.

No, my problem lies with the fans. The overzealous Cubs fanatic who sees everything through perpetually-negative, Harry Caray-sized glasses and places blame where blame need not be placed.

Like Bartman.

Everyone and their grandmother knows who Steve Bartman is and what he did. The Cubs five outs away from beating the Florida Marlins and advancing to the 2003 World Series, and then the foul ball was hit down the left-field line and Bartman got in Moises Alou's way and voila!

Instant scapegoat!

Please. Enough with these curses and billy goats and excuses as to why your team time and time again gags away the postseason. Did Mitch Williams and the Phillies make excuses when he gave up the World Series-winning home run to Joe Carter in 1993? No, he manned up. Did Trevor Hoffman make excuses when he allowed Colorado to score three runs Monday night to win and advance to the NLDS? No, he took the blame and said it was his fault.

So why can't Cubs fans just acknowledge that not winning the World Series in almost a century is the team's fault?

Okay, Bartman got in the way of what you thought would be a sure out, but what if Alou doesn't catch that ball anyway? Or what about that routine grounder that Alex Gonzalez booted later in the inning? Or the bullpen, which gagged away the rest of Game 5, or the starters who pitched so poorly in Games 6 and 7?

You gonna blame those on Bartman, too? Cause if the answer is yes, then words cannot describe how freakin' retarded I think you people are.

Let me ask this: if the Cubs don't win the Series this year, who are you gonna blame? The players, the manager? Or Bill Belicheck for illegally filming the team on defense? Are you going to accuse A-Rod of receiving an HGH treatment from an Orlando pharmacy, or will you just look at the players who didn't perform and put the blame on them?

You don't see Mets fans doing this; they're blaming the people who deserve it for their September collapse: manager Willie Randolph and the players. No goats, no curses, no headphone-wearing fans who like their souvenir baseballs a little too much ... Mets fans understand it's all about what happens on the field, nothing else.

Was Bartman stupid for reaching for that foul ball? Yes, and so was Jeffrey Maier when he reached for a home run in the 1997 playoffs that helped New York beat the Orioles. But did Baltimore ever blame their postseason demise -- or the following decade of futility -- on that 10-year-old from the Bronx? No, because unlike those Cub fans, they weren't morons.

The Red Sox were not cursed, and neither were the White Sox. But then, that's what this is all about, isn't it? For so long, you Cubs had the Red Sox to keep you company in the misery of never winning it all, and Boston left you hanging in 2004. That had to sting, didn't it -- losing your lifelong roommate because he decided he was too good for you and moved out.

Or the White Sox, a clearly superior team with a clearly superior manager sharing a city with you, winning it all. It stinks, doesn't it? You have the fans, you have all the money and clout in that city, yet loudmouth Ozzy Guillen's the one with a World Series ring.

That billy goat curse is nothing but a bunch of horse crap, and you know it. Bartman is an excuse, and you know it. As you root for your bastions of mediocrity this postseason, please ... let the old ghosts go. Stop blaming the blameless. If the Cubs lose, blame the players -- you know, the ones who actually lose the game.

I mean, what does it take to make you Cub fans happy? Ditka managing the team?

Nah, you'd probably find something crazy to blame him for too.