The considerable Irish dramatist, Eugene O’Neil once expressed, “There is no present or future—just the past, occurring again and again, now.”
There is no official philosophy for Georgia sports, however in the event that anybody were to ever request one, I’d put O’Neil’s quote at the highest point of the waitlist.
For games fans from the Peach State, history has been one long, consistent bad dream of disillusionment, underachievement, and unfulfilled trust. We are and have been a fanbase whose lone reassurance is a myth we made up. The myth says that there is a poise in the way that we get things done; and different urban areas, who have tasted the alleged eminence, can’t understand the peaceful and unadulterated fulfillment of the Georgia way. They have turned out to be debauched in their prosperity. We have been instructed a lesson in reality of life and are better for it.
This story uncovers its actual nature nearly when it is out of our mouths.
We don’t trust it. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
We have seen enough of the world to realize that eminence frequently goes to the individuals who don’t merit it, however that does not improve crush taste any. Far and away more terrible, we are constantly struck by the sinking doubt that for each undeserving troll who gets up in our notices about their title winning group, there are a hundred progressively that are for the most part like us—normal individuals who simply need their group to win. We can’t loathe them for that. All things considered, how might we react in the event that we were in their shoes? Not commend a title? I don’t think so.
Yet at the same time, there stays in our souls a profound seeded confidence. Not a confidence in God (however that could be there) or a confidence in humankind (fine), yet a confidence in the revile.
For so a hefty portion of us Georgians, we know how the story closes before it even starts. That football group between the supports? Can’t win a defining moment. That football group downtown? Can’t beat their opponents more often than not. That group from the Dome? Exchanged Brett Favre. That baseball group? They don’t play in Atlanta any longer. That b-ball group? Will dependably be a younger sibling. That hockey group? Hold up… what hockey group?
This situation breeds an impossible to miss otherworldly circumstance among Georgia sports fans. Not to get excessively religious on you, but rather it is a fundamentally the same as feeling to sitting tight for a Messiah. In the event that one ever got here, it may resemble a puppy pursuing an auto—what the heck would you ever do with something for which you’ve been holding up your whole life?
There is an anguish and a joy in the holding up. The holding up turns out to be practically similar to a teach. It can feel—after such a large number of trials—as though it has a more profound reason, as though your spirit needs this holding up keeping in mind the end goal to take in an astuteness that a large portion of the world persistently overlooks: that life is based on the establishment of dreams conceded.
I believe that is the reason Georgia sports makes two particular sorts of fans—the worry warts, similar to me, who discover extraordinary bliss in something near abhorring their group and, second, the enteral confident people, who decline to see the hangman’s tree funniness in the expression “one year from now is our year.” Both aren’t right in their own specific manners, however what other choice is there?