As a Notre Dame fan, I spent the bye week reflecting on the season and came to one solid conclusion — a bandwagon fan is a beautiful thing. While I'm sure that appeals to Oakland A's fans right about now, the prospect of front-running seemed appealing to me during the weekend of the Michigan game a few weeks back.
The complete and utter annihilation of my Fighting Irish by Michigan left me stunned and briefly incapacitated. After months of anticipation for our inevitable national championship run, the dream was dead before the official start of fall. With all the talk of Ohio State, the BCS rankings and the Heisman race these days, all I can think of is how our season fell apart in one game.
Still, teams lose every weekend and fans are constantly subjected to an unfair amount of disappointment and heartbreak. I speak to those fans now by saying, there's a way out. You could become a bandwagon fan.
Looking back on the game that ended Notre Dame's national title hopes, things would've been much easier if I could've worn a Michigan shirt underneath my Notre Dame garb. It would've been an enjoyable game if I could've merely claimed that the gold with my blue was actually maize. I could walk in to the sports bar whistling the "Victory March" and leave humming "Hail to the Victors." I could've easily hid my fan identity and avoided the barbs of innumerable Notre Dame haters armed with salt to throw on the gaping wounds left by the Wolverines. I might have spent the week after mocking Brady Quinn's choke job from the comfort of my seat on the "Troy Smith for Heisman" bus.
Most fans regard bandwagon fans with all the affection of a member of al-Qaeda. Bandwagon fan is a label most program supporters will fight unnecessarily vociferously as if every shred of their honor depended on their fan legitimacy. It's a term used as a slur by many in the sports world and it has even led to physical confrontations, which are usually entertaining to watch as they are essentially street brawls with fandom as the ultimate prize. In reality, it's simple to understand why the regular fan regards the frontrunners with contempt — they are insanely jealous.
Regular fans can go years between bowl wins (I was in middle school when Notre Dame won their last bowl game) and decades between championships. Chicago Cubs fans will probably never see their team in a World Series and Cleveland Browns fans may never see their team have another winning season. For most sports fans, whatever shred of joy they garner from a successful season is washed away by the fountains of near-misses and outright failures. For the bandwagon fan, however, a delicious serving of victory is served for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For them, championship rings might as well come out of vending machines, while the only rings regular fans find are in boxes of Captain Crunch.
There is no heartbreak for the bandwagon fan. There are no close losses, no Bill Buckners, and no missed field goals. There is only constant victory. They aren't stuck rooting for whatever team their fathers raised them to root for. They aren't confined to certain geographical fan boundaries. Bandwagon fans refuse to be stuck with whatever the status quo, they choose their own fate. They bathe in celebratory champagne and towel off with championship t-shirts. Their magazine subscriptions consists solely of commemorative editions and their DVD collections are recaps of (recently) past glory. They know victory on a level that only Tiger Woods, Roger Federer, and the Harlem Globetrotters can relate to.
Bandwagon fans are even crucial to the success of nearly every athletic team. If an abundance of fans didn't latch on to the team du jour, then fan bases would rarely grow. When times are good, the bandwagon fan will show up, buy his concessions, enjoy the game, and then leave wearing No. 1 foam fingers on each hand (making for an interesting drive home). The cash influx of bandwagon fans is valued by every team and goes a long way in signing that free agent or building that new training facility.
For those who still can't comprehend the beauty of the bandwagon fan, step outside the sports world for a moment. Look at HBO's Entourage. The show is about the people who grew up next door to the movie star and are now part of his entourage. They get to live a freeloading life of luxury where their biggest concern is what to wear to a party at the Playboy Mansion. If given the choice, wouldn't you choose to join an entourage like that? Or would the loyalty to your neighbor, who grows up to be a baker, be more important? Basically, would you rather party with voluptuous, lingerie-clad models or enjoy the occasional free donut?
There is the theory that defeat and disappointment only serve to make future successes that much sweeter. But that's assuming that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and for some teams (again, the Cubs and Browns come to mind) that simply isn't a reality. The sad thing is that those fans didn't do anything wrong. They were simply born in the wrong city or grandfathered into the team by a relative. Is it fair that they will never feel the exhilaration of rooting for a champion? They have little effect on changing their team's fortunes, they are stuck. Bandwagon fans, however, can choose to be a champion. Sure, hardship now may possibly turn into a championship experience down the road, but a fan experience that is completely devoid of the agony of defeat is probably pretty sweet.
I had a chance to make that turn into a bandwagon fan. Hours after Notre Dame played the role of delicious cake to Michigan's fat kid, I went out to run some errands and pick up some food. I briefly contemplated donning the shirt of an unnamed SEC team (which I only own because it was on sale for less than $6), so I wouldn't have to hear about Notre Dame's debacle from everyone. I could've turned into an OSU fan and have had my national title and Heisman hopes alive today.
In the end, though, I stayed true and sported my Irish shirt around town. I felt obligated to wear it, almost like I deserved to have anonymous people mock me as if I lost the game myself. I didn't have the stomach to make the turn, so I spent the rest of the night fielding questions like "Why did Charlie Weis play Brady Quinn's sister at quarterback?" and "How come Notre Dame sucks so much?" Weeks later, I still get barbs from Big 10 supporters and Irish haters.
But just because I couldn't make the switch doesn't mean that you can't do it, however. You can choose your own fate. For me, I'm choosing a future of occasional free donuts. And I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.
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