The Pain of Defeat

In poker, they say that you don’t always remember your huge winning hands, but you can vividly describe each and every bad beat. Sports may not exactly parallel this axiom, but you’d be hard pressed to convince me of that right now. You see, being a sports fan means that you have to encompass all the emotions of following a team – the euphoric successes, the devastating failures, and everything in between. Winning should never get old; if it does, the biting sting of losing will always leave one hungry for that feeling of success.

<>In my twenty years, I’ve seen some absolutely tremendous games at both ends of the spectrum. Before I was 10, the 49ers had already lost three straight NFC championship games to the bitterly hated Dallas Cowboys. I’ll never forget Aikman, Smith, and Irvin cutting up the 49ers defense. I remember these losses more vividly than the 1994 triumph and eventual Super Bowl win. As an 8-year old, can you imagine thinking – hey, we’ve come close three times, but are we ever going to win?

I’ve seen, cheered, and stood by many absolutely horrible teams, who made losing routine. The 2001 Cal Bears went 1-10. The mid-1990 San Francisco Giants struggled to get 70 wins a season. The 2004 San Francisco 49ers managed to go 2-14. And the Warriors for the past 12 years… enough said.

But in my mind, there are two types of losing that destroy you. Two types that eat you inside, leave you silent and stewing, frustrated and deflated, angry and speechless. To be this upset, you have to make an emotional investment in a team so deep that defeat literally rips you apart and questions why you enjoy sports in the first place.

<> The first type is where your team is outperformed, outplayed, and outclassed in all facets of the game. The one where you know you got beaten. There are no excuses to be made, no outlets of frustration, just the overwhelming feeling that despite all the time, energy, and effort that you’ve put into supporting your team, it isn’t enough.

Two great examples are the UCLA-USC 2005 football game and the 2006 NCAA championship game between UCLA and Florida. Have I ever been more excited for two games? No. Have I ever had less faith in my teams? No. Did I convince myself with every ounce of my will that we would prevail, that we would achieve success? Yes. And did it happen? No.

<>In these two games, we were beaten so soundly, destroyed so mercilessly, that there was no appropriate emotion except for helplessness. Maybe the other team ran up the score, didn’t win with class, or whatever. It doesn’t matter, they were the better team. Once the game started, winning was never an option in these games. In that nightmarish game against Florida, I didn’t make a noise from 3 minutes left in the game until 30 minutes into the car ride home. That’s roughly an hour of pure silence. Because honestly, what is there to say? “Well, we made a nice run. It’s really too bad things didn’t work out.” Hell no.

The second type happened today, in literally the worst stomach punch of a game since losing Game 6 of the World Series to the Anaheim Angels, when we were up 5-0 and a handful of outs from winning the World Series. In that case, I couldn’t believe what was happening. I watched in dismay as the lead, which looked so safe and secure, was suddenly gone. I’ll never forget the feeling of raw jealousy as Angels fans cheered and celebrated. When you’re so close to victory, yet lose on the biggest stage at the most crucial moment, you just feel like you’ve blown it.

<>Today was one of those days. As a sports fan, your undying support for your team must be tempered with a dose of realism. And I was realistic about this Notre Dame game – prior to kickoff, I definitely thought we could win, but was far from confident about it. But by the time the end of the 4^th quarter came, I thought we would win. We had controlled the game, we’d performed well enough. We both needed and deserved this game. And just like that, the tides turned. 62 seconds later, with the clock reading 0:00, this game was over. We’d had the Irish right where we wanted them, and yet we couldn’t finish. This was not only an opportunity to win an important game on a huge stage – the type of win that defines a team and changes the course of a program – but it was also a game that should have been won.

People tend to overreact in these situations. They blame the coaches, they blame the refs, they blame whomever and whatever helps make them feel better about themselves. I watch in silence. I soak in the feeling of despair. I watch jealously as the other team’s fans parade in victory. I’m not going to blame the refs, I’m not going to blame the coaches, I’m not even going to blame the players because they played a heck of a game. I’m not going to overanalyze the game, because the bottom line is: they made plays when they needed to, and we didn’t. What I will do is wallow in this bottomless pit of sorrow, because it will just make me want the next victory more badly. I will never forget this game.

Losing is a feeling like none other in sports.