New Champions and Fallen Heroes

[Blogger's Note: This essay is yet another entry using sports as a foil for discussing deeper dimensions of human existence. As long as you're interested in topics like joy, perseverance, and existential meaning, you don't have to share my sports allegiences to find the following eight paragraphs to be worth your time. ...At least I hope that's the case.]

In recent posts, I have used both the UFC and the NFL to help me think about how my existence as a social creature is shaped by the professional sports I enjoy. Several commenting friends agreed with my thoughts concerning the way that one's emotional life and relationships can be edified by one's involvement with a favorite athlete or team. I noted how it does my soul good to see "my guy(s)" be victorious and (even in defeat) perform at an elite level. Many entries on this blog have been devoted to my strong appreciation for Mixed Martial Arts and fighters like Matt Hughes and Randy Couture. I've expressed my anxiety and anticipation leading up to an important fight, and I've done my best to articulate my satisfaction when "my guy" prevails.

This post is my attempt to express the other side of the coin: the letdown when my favorite athlete falls short. Last night at UFC 65, Matt Hughes- the most dominant champion in UFC history- was himself dominated by the new 170-lb champion of the world, George St. Pierre. That Hughes lost is not itself shocking. On a day when the top two teams in college football went head to head in Columbus, OH, the #1 and #2 welterweights in the entire fight game threw down last night in the Octagon. And the unofficial margin between these rankings was widely regarded to be razor thin. So when the #2 man toppled the competitor who had held the #1 spot for so many years, the new king's victory did not come as a tremendous surprise.

What was surprising was the way Georges St. Pierre owned Matt Hughes. For roughly seven minutes St. Pierre had his way with the defending champion. He continually scored with punches and kicks on the feet and convincingly stuffed the two or three takedowns Hughes attempted. When St. Pierre's left high kick connected to the right side of Hughes' head, the pit of my stomach dropped out. Seconds thereafter, St. Pierre was on top of his floored opponent putting the exclamation mark on his performance. He hit Hughes with punches and elbows until the referee pulled him off and called a stop to the fight. Days ago, I was debating whether Matt Hughes might retire with the title belt still wrapped securely around his waist. Now I genuinely doubt that my favorite active fighter will ever hold championship gold again.

Joy and pain indeed go hand-in-hand with being a devoted sports fan. At the end of the day, however, they are the byproducts of deeper processes and structures. One's sports commitments help to shape not only one's activities and relationships at the micro level. These commitments, in degrees that vary from person to person, also play a role in shaping the understanding one has of the past and one's expectations for the future at the macro level. The struggle to lead a meaningful and rewarding life in a harsh and seemingly arbitrary world requires us to dangle the proverbial carrot in front out ourselves to keep up pushing forward from day to day. At the same time, we need to know the carrots we once pursued were objects truly worthy of our attention.

Sports serve as one source of these carrots. Our incentive for making it through the day, the week, the month, the year is often to make it to tip off, kick off, the first pitch or the opening bell. We can endure many nuisances and trials because these carrots assure us that something potentially invigorating and validating awaits us if we can get there. Whether one prefers to view it as a form of community building or vicarious living, even the mere anticipation of cheering on "my guy(s)" to victory can sweeten an otherwise sour stretch of existence. That sweet taste can linger for year upon year if we can conscientiously maintain that history has validated the accomplishments of our favorite team or athlete. (Recall my previous G.O.A.T. rant.)

But a sweet taste can turn bitter if the ever-unfolding events of this life compel us to reinterpret accomplishments that until now have served as a source of satisfaction. In the sports world, a poignant loss in the the big game can ruin an entire year's worth of joy. For example, the adulation and excitement that accompanied the Colts' 13-o start last year were quickly forgotten after the team dropped three of its last four games and didn't even come close to championship glory. For the tried and true, White and Blue faithful who had selected the Colts as an important locus of their hopes and satisfaction from September through January, the team's unceremonious exit from the post-season flat out hurt.

I'm trying to determine the nature and depth of the hurt I feel over Hughes' loss last night. Unlike the NFL, accomplishment in the UFC is measured from single bout to single bout rather than in terms of an entire season. I've already documented the extensive success Hughes has had as an MMA competitor. One championship loss to St. Pierre cannot undermine the legacy he's built over the past six plus years. But what his loss does do for yours truly is cast a bit of darkness over the future. It limits, if not outright precludes, many of the hopes and aspirations I held dearly on Friday.

One of my heroes had his ass handed to him, and I'm more than a little bummed about the whole thing. The new champion is an amazing fighter, a great guy, a humble guy. But he's not "my guy." I wonder how what has happened to Matt Hughes will shape my interest in and enthusiasm for the sport of MMA- what has long been a great locus of enjoyment and satisfaction in my life. Only time will tell.