How do you root for a player when you don’t like them?
One of the appeals of sport is supposed to be the moral simplicity of the games. You win or you lose, and virtue is measured in an athlete’s ability to bring home glory. Maybe it was never truly thus, but for many years the foibles of players off the field were the thing of whispers and nods, but mostly easily ignored versus what they did in uniform.
We live in an age of abundance when it comes to information. No other generation has ever had such immediate access to so much knowledge from so many media. We sports fans are constantly consuming multiple streams of information simultaneously, while athletes are using their power and privilege to provide something that portrays itself as a transparent (and flattering) look into their lives.
For much of the past few decades, many enterprising pieces of sports journalism focused on humanizing the athletes, providing a glimpse into their lives and their struggles while feeding into a larger narrative, both about the player and about the greater profundity of their personal triumphs.
But in recent years, the other side of players’ humanity has been laid bare. And increasingly, it’s impossible to ignore.
A personal note: Over the last few seasons, whenever the Toronto Blue Jays show interest in a player or sign them, I invariably Google the player’s name with some combination of “domestic violence” or “assault” or “abuse” or whatever else comes to mind. Because before I feel any excitement over such a transaction, I want to know if the team is bringing in a bad dude.
When there were rumblings that the Blue Jays had an interest in Francisco Rodriguez in 2015, I hoped with all my being that they would pass, because I knew that I’d never be able to enjoy a game where he entered on my rooting interest’s behalf. I knew I would not be able to shut down the part of my mind that knew that player’s reported history of domestic abuse charges.
In a week where we find ourselves pondering Joey Votto’s off-handed and brusquely unpatriotic comments, Robinson Cano’s positive drug test and the laughable excuses for it, and the grave charges against Roberto Osuna that linger, it underlines how difficult it is to separate the public performers from their private lives.
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That’s not to conflate the actions of those three players. Votto’s worst crime may have been a level of irreverence that reached a point of insensitivity, and even that is debateable. Though, strangely, some of the most inflammatory social media discussion was generated by Votto’s comments, which goes to show that when the tribalism of sports fandom and the tribalism of patriotism meet, you get a whole other level irrational anger.
Cano’s assumed use of performance enhancers is a greyer area morally, given the physical, emotional and financial pressures that players are placed under, though his rote and comical explanations do little to help his case.
And as for Osuna, that’s a much more serious matter. It’s one that you hesitate to even speak of before it is dealt with in the criminal justice system, lest it look as though you are somehow making light of it. There are more important things at stake than our enjoyment of sports.
There are certainly people who will never forget Votto’s graceless comments, and Cano’s legacy and Hall of Fame credentials will certainly be affected by this suspension. But it’s still easy to imagine both working their way into the good graces of the baseball world in a fairly short period of time.
Blue Jays fans have seemingly moved past Kevin Pillar’s use of a homophobic slur, though it is completely understandable that some will never be able to see him quite the same.
Osuna’s case, though, embodies the push-pull that is currently exerted on fans’ emotions. We’ve seen the story of his elevation from humble roots and thrown our support behind him when he struggled mentally in the early part of last season. That may be why the charges against him feel like such a betrayal of fans’ faith.
It’s also likely why his role on the club and how to account for his absence has not been a particularly hot topic. There are some matters that are far too serious to get bogged down in sports talk and hot takes.
But looking ahead to a point where Osuna’s administrative leave is eventually lifted, and he presumably rejoins the team and assumes his role at the back of the bullpen, it’s hard not to feel a sense of dread at the moral dissonance that fans will be asked to assume each time he takes the mound.
Within the bubble of sports, the faux-drama of a closer entering the game lifts the spirits and anticipation and gives us the jolt of excitement that keeps us engaged in what is essentially trivial.
Imagining Osuna jogging to the mound with a game on the line pops that bubble completely.
There’s much about sports fandom that rests somewhere beneath a level of rationality beyond which we would not allow ourselves to dip in other aspects of our life. The idea of athletes as role models is probably laughably quaint at this point, and fans can probably accept a lot of bad behaviour or differing worldviews from players so long as they perform well.
But there are some things that are impossible to forget and exceedingly hard to forgive.
