In his most recent newsletter, Andrew Heaton regrets not having inherited the “sports gene”:
I honestly believe (and science will vindicate this) that there is such a thing as a “sports gene,” and I don’t have one.
I *wish* I did. I like meeting people, and sports and weather are good conversation starters. (Except for the few people who don’t like sports, or live in hermetically-sealed biodomes.) I’ll have a hard time if I ever run for state legislature if I’m constantly trying to pivot conversation away from football and back towards Robert Heinlein novels.
Aside from the social benefits of being sporty, I also get the distinct impression that I’m missing out on some fundamental part of the human experience. In clips of football games, when the team shoots the ball through the big wicket, people erupt into a state of enraptured ecstasy which is only available to me through abusing prescription drugs. That looks like a fun thing to be a part of, if only it could light up the absent sports chunk of my brain. I think I can glom onto some of that group joy dynamic via singing, but Broadway sing-a-longs are less pervasive in our culture than sports bars.
That said, much as I’d love to get a sports gene infusion so I can join in on the fun, when it happens I pledge to be less obnoxious in bars. Why are sports fans allowed to scream in bars but nobody else is? If there’s a basketball game on, it’s completely socially acceptable to yell like a lunatic when the tall guys launch the ball through the net wicket. Were I to see a preview for “Picard” or a thrilling policy debate on CSPAN, and lose my mind screaming and clapping, people would beat me to death with a pool cue. How about no more screaming in bars?
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