How to Meltdown Like a Man

Defining meltdown anecdotally: One spring break, my friends and I drove to Colorado. While at an ESPN Zone in Denver, we caught the waning seconds of a first-round NCAA tournament game. A table full of Iowa fans watched in dismay as their mid-major opponent cashed in on a desperation heave from three that knocked the Hawkeyes out of the tournament and ended their season. The impunity of March Madness struck yet again.

“Bull****!” a grief-stricken Iowa fan screamed as he slammed both fists on the table and began to openly sob in public.

I’m sure that I laughed at the time, but this fan’s despondency and disbelief are hardly foreign to any serious fan of college basketball. These demons returned to torment me Wednesday night, as Kansas scored 13 points in the opening half of a loss at Texas Christian—a team previously winless in the conference and sporting a 9-12 record.

“It’s the worst team Kansas has ever put on the floor since Dr. Naismith was here,” Bill Self said. “I think he had some bad teams when he lost to Topeka YMCA in his first couple years.”

            Those words got more play over the next day than Gangham style. 

When TCU’s student section began the “overrated chant,” it conjured images of the Shawshank bars hammering home on Andy DuFresne’s cell during his first night. It seemed perfectly plausible that everything was merely a bad dream until that lucid moment. And so, as I sat on my couch and attempted to make sense of a defeat dealt by a team that my grad school rec. team would have handled easily, familiar habits seized control and began to dictate my behavior. Such behaviors compose the blueprint of sorts for a proper sports meltdown—knowledge with which any serious fan should be equipped.

1) Knee jerk cynicism: Initially, you must not attempt to sugarcoat the team’s defeat. In a word, overreact. Sunshine pumping will make you look like an imbecile, so adopt the notion that exaggerated pessimism will gain the respect of your peers. Defeatism bestows wisdom upon its heralds. Embrace Hyperbole, for he is your dearest friend during this stage. Flee from Perspective, for he is an idiot.

Helpful examples, courtesy of Phog.net:

Gosh, I hate this team. Kinda can't wait for this season to be over. No chance we make to the Sweet 16

Is it too soon to contemplate a coaching change?

EJ has turned into Matt Cassel.

Including one of my own gems (yikes): I am a diehard KU football fan, and I have never been this embarrassed.

           

Office etiquette: When forced to face the music with your coworkers on Monday, you must feign outward resignation (i.e. “The season is over”) while secretly and internally nurturing an irrational, eternal optimism. Part of being a sports fan means ignoring reason and logic where it concerns your own team, but mocking those who do the same for their teams—especially your rival fans. As such, it is essential for you to comport yourself as an individual bereft of any hope.

Exude an air of annoyance when one of your coworkers dares to broach the subject. If forced to verbalize your disappointment, go for something curt and self-deprecating.

Co-worker: Didn’t think I’d see you today, Brandon.

Me: We suck.

Hope Springs Eternal: At this stage, the dichotomy between realism and optimism evolves, as you rationalize the recent struggles and—purely motivated by self-preservation—feel the pressing need to provide your brethren with perspective and/or optimism. You do this more for yourself than for them, as evidenced by the five-paragraph treatise I posted on Phog.net in the wake of our home loss to Oklahoma State.

An excerpt of my desperate attempt to solicit group therapy:

If, at the beginning of this season, someone told me that this team would be 19-2 (7-1), I would have been ecstatic. We lost two NBA players that we miss sorely, particularly a dynamic point guard who put tremendous pressure on defenses through his penetration and athleticism. This team, as Self admits, doesn't really have a prototypical point guard--or a point guard at all, really. How remarkable, then, is it that we had so much success this season? How often can a team be really good without an excellent floor leader who breaks down defenses and generates easy scoring opportunities?

Though thoroughly depressed and having glimpsed the proverbial writing on the wall weeks ago, I felt morally bound to rally the troops—risking communal mockery—and convince them that true fans eschew Reason in the face of hardship. Reason suggests that due to our offensively challenged and uninspired play, Kansas fans should lower expectations. 

Reason: Forget about winning the conference. And those Final Four tickets? They should have been posted to Craig’s List last Saturday. In other words: 

Brandon: You make a compelling case, Reason. Respectfully, however: 

And with that, you (read: I) have successfully traversed the stages of a standard sports-related meltdown. You (I) are (am) once again prepared to rejoin civilization.