[dropcap]W[/dropcap]hen I came into the office on Monday morning, I was all set to vent about the New York Giants. The frustration of watching Big Blue—and its boat-partying wide receiving corps—struggle at Lambeau Field, coupled with the fact that I would undoubtedly have to suffer through a few snide remarks from my Cowboy-fan editor, meant that I didn’t want to think too much about football outside of devoting my column space to the overwhelming space of sports anguish.
It’s a good thing I procrastinated, however, because Monday night made me forget all about Odell Beckham Jr.
If you’ve read my column, you have probably gleaned that I’m not a huge college football fan. There are too many teams to follow, too many players to keep track of, and, coming from New York, there isn’t one dominant program that automatically demands my allegiance. But watching Clemson stun Alabama in the final seconds of the National Championship Game on Jan. 9, none of that mattered at all.
Now, I’m all for being a fan. My undying allegiance, say, to the Boston Red Sox, makes it possible for me to spend three hours in May watching an interleague game against the Padres.
But sometimes, the best sporting events are the ones that don’t even require you to have a rooting interest.
In truth I was rooting against Alabama, but not because of some innate hatred I have of the program, but because, all things being equal, how can you not root for the underdog against a program as dominant as Nick Saban’s Crimson Tide? So watching the Tigers move down the field, trailing by three points as time ticked off the clock on Monday night, I found myself filled with the same emotions that I didn’t get to feel on Sunday. I clapped my hands with delight each time Deshaun Watson escaped pressure to deliver a strike to a receiver downfield. I audibly questioned Clemson’s clock management—showing you how ill-equipped I am to be a head coach—and when Watson finally hit former walk-on Hunter Renfrow for the winning score, I burst up off my couch, did a fist pump and felt, for a second, as though I was a Clemson lifer.
And that’s what sports can do.
If you strip away all the fandom, all the built-in rivalries and the circus surrounding the whole deal, you’re left with two teams, locked in an athletic struggle, that has the power—if only for a minute—to provide some kind of escape for the viewer. And that’s a beautiful thing.
And it never hurts to watch Saban sulk, either. That’s really just the icing on the cake.
Follow Mike Smith @LiveMike_Sports
