The King is Dead

Without dynasties, what fun would sports be?  Who would we root against, which may be as important as the team we root for?

Growing up, I learned to hate the Yankees.  Then came the Packers, and, after them, the Lakers.  For other fans in other places and other times, there were Celtics and the Canadiens and, no doubt, the Bulls (though never the Knicks, despite what Spike Lee and Woody Allen might be deluded to think).  Presently, the Patriots do nicely as a despised dynasty and, off of last night’s dispatch of the Cavaliers, the Warriors.  Kevin Durant, meet Tom Brady meet Whitey Ford.  

A dynasty embodies the quintessential “other” to the point of perfection: Mickey Mantle, Michael Jordan, Bill Russell.  The dynasty comes to town, and it’s always David vs. Goliath, which is good for ticket sales, if not won-loss records.  On paper, your team doesn’t stack up, doesn’t stand a chance, but maybe, just maybe, this time with this starting pitcher or quarterback will be different.

And when the dynasty shows otherwise, we hate them all the more while identifying ever more strongly with our team.  Because of the Yankees no less than my father, I am a White Sox fan.  Because of the Yankees no less than her father, so is Clare, I think.