We’re taught from a young age that hate is ugly, immoral and corrosive. It’s also the fuel behind sports’ greatest matchups.
We’re not supposed to hate. Right from the first day we walk into kindergarten, we know the word will get you in trouble. Screaming “I hate you!” will get you grounded even when it’s true and your sister totally deserves to hear it. Hate always ends in tears. You might not like what someone did, the scolds tell us, but you’re not allowed to hate the person. Use your words to work it out . . . but not that word. It’s forbidden.
Like so many things in life, sports provide us with a shelter from these arbitrary rules. In sports, hate is fuel. Hate is the glue among teammates. Hate is an intoxicating drug for fans. Yes, it’s true. Hate is ugly, and it can make you do crazy, indefensible things. (If you doubt that, please be sure to read Tim Johnson’s excellent story about Alabama superfan Harvey Updyke Jr.’s desperate bid for revenge against Auburn fans on
p. 30.) But in sports, hatred—when properly controlled and channelled—is a powerful tool.
Scratch through the veneer of sportsmanship, graciousness and civility and what you will often find is an athlete propelled in no small measure by the sour taste of enmity, jealousy and fear. And why not? The stakes are high in sports and opponents want to take your dreams from you. They want to take food off your table and money out of your bank account. They want to take your gold medal, keep you out of the Hall of Fame, get you sent to the minors. Very often they are trying to physically harm you or, at the very least, embarrass you. If you want to avoid those things, you must try to inflict them on the other side. This does not lend itself to camaraderie.
We know this to be true and yet we avoid it. Instead, we shroud it in tired euphemisms and war metaphors. We revel in the trash talk, and then we listen to post-game interviews and scorn anyone who fails to mask their true feelings in the universal language of public relations.
Well, this issue is dedicated to celebrating that renegade emotion, and the timeless rivalries that it produces. As Stephen Brunt notes in the pages ahead, rivalries force you to choose a side. Being a fan means accepting a certain emotional investment—that emotion is the one we’ve always been taught to suppress.
That’s why sports appeal to our darker instincts as well as our better ones. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
This story originally appeared in Sportsnet magazine. Subscribe here.