Fandom

Over the last week or so I’ve not been reading many full-length novels. However, I did read through one man’s love affair with the soccer* team Arsenal. Nick Hornby’s affiliation with his team is fascinating, but Fever Pitch is about more than how he obsessively relates his every personal up and down to the playing of a few men each week. At least I really think it might be.

There are many times when Hornby’s descriptions are so outlandish I doubt whether this could be authentically autobiographical, rather merely part of the British self-deprecating psyche. But right when I disbelieve and relegate this to historical fiction, he addresses my very concern. Citing an incident of inviting foreigners to one miserable match, then to another one, promising it to be quite nice, his invitees “just looked at (him) and smiled, as if the invitation was an extreme example of the famously incomprehensible English sense of humour.” (Fever Pitch, 204) So, it is concerning.

I enjoy a sporting event, and I have a couple teams of which I am fond (although Seattle’s Super Sonics – the whole team – got sent off to Oklahoma, twisting and tearing my weakened ties to anything local). But the affection was mainly romantic as I think back on my childhood when I hoped that my athleticism would eventually flourish. This makes me the sort of enthusiast Hornby describes as a “bloody big-game casual fan” except for the fact that I am so casual I hardly even can be counted on to show up for big games. A more apt description would be a “sorry mid-season unimpassioned spectator” who mainly wants to know if she even knows any of the starters anymore. Totally unlike the hero, who from his first taste of soccer*as a teen has experienced utter tyranny of attachment, making him choose a flat near the stadium and go to every single game no matter whether he misses close friends’ parties, or holidays, or even opportunities to have a career. Incidentally, as he writes this, the career’s been sorted, as he’s a writer, and writers can certainly find time to write when Arsenal aren’t playing. (Not sure why, but Arsenal are always plural in Hornby’s writing.)

That being said, the amount of self-disclosure, which I admit seeming put-on, except for the fact that it’s written so genuinely and so well (it must be true!), makes me wonder about men altogether. When I go to games and witness sports fans I don’t think of them as like-minded. However, when Hornby acknowledges his obsession as such, and fills out the inner workings of his mania I see very clearly how that could relate to me. Uh-oh.

Overall I think that a man who can fully describe games he’s watched from twenty-plus years ago, going so far as to relive particularly pleasant matches in his spare time, is incredible. If this is typical of die-hard fans then that’s going to make the next game I see far more vivid. But when Hornby says of The Greatest Moment Ever (Liverpool vs Arsenal 26.5.89), that there is something in the surprise win while in a crowd of supporters which goes beyond all heightened human experience (including sex, childbirth, promotion, winning money, etc), I wonder. The ability to believe in the face of hopelessness and resignation seem to be the phenomenon leading to his conclusion that “it is just that real life is paler, duller, and contains less potential for unexpected delirium.” (Fever, 231)

This may, indeed, be the perfect Advent choice. Thanks Arsenal! Let's rejoice in the mystery.

*Soccer = Football IFF you’re anywhere in the world except the USA