Currently hours away from what feels like the biggest moment of MY life; Game 7 of the NBA Finals. I know this shouldn't feel this way, well, at least to any rational person, but that is the beauty of being in-love with a team, in-love with the moment, and in-love with the happiness they bring when they succeed, that beauty, of course, is living life with an irrational mindset that what they do somehow gives your live purpose. If they succeed tonight, I'm a winner, if they lose, I'm a loser and the next week will be lived in a state of depression that even my birthday celebrations can't pull me out of.
I know nothing I do from here to now will affect the outcome, but believing it, is tougher. So I go through my day repeating the same superstitions; same socks, same shorts, brush my teeth a certain way, championship Heat hat, and my beloved Mike Miller jersey. I begin to act like some sort of Greek priest and try to find signs with whats going on around me: the wind is blowing from east to west meaning that the Heat will push the Spurs back home. I do this without realizing that I'm standing near a beach and that's the normal pattern of the ocean breeze on the east coast.
When the team you love is minutes away from what feels like the biggest game in its history, EVERYTHING matters, everything has meaning and the fact that I feel this way is why being a fan of the Miami Heat is as agonizing as it is wonderful since the Nation constantly tries to find different reasons to mock you. They interpreted some fans leaving Game 5 early as affirmation that all Heat fans are disloyal, but those same people shouting insults ignored Spurs fans clearing the building with 10 minutes left in Game 4. Why? Because in Miami's case they just wanted some evidence that solidifies their preconceived notion that all Miami fans are terrible in the same way a racist person interprets one act by a single person as a representation of their entire demographic. The nation didn't like The Decision, nor did they enjoy seeing fans celebrate their arrival. They were unable to realize that they would act in the same fashion if it was their team who went from a possible future with Chalmers and Beasley as their anchors, to Wade, LeBron and Bosh. What started as a moment of dislike, has transformed itself into disgust the same way a girl begins to hate the way her boyfriend breathes once that relationship is nearing its end.
As a loyal fan, one who suffered with losing the Derrick Rose lottery then was stuck with game after game of Beasley, Chris Quinn, Ricky Davis and Q-Rich, one who felt the heartbreak of losing to Pacers in 2004 after the wonderful ride Wade gave us his rookie year, I confess to wasting time defending Heat fans, the same way someone defends their family although knowing they are imperfect. But now, the war of words ends and my team has the opportunity to shut every one up for another summer. So excuse me, since I have to get back to my rituals.
Until there is definitive proof that eating 6 jelly beans per quater does not directly impact the performance of my team, I will not stop doing so. Until then, this has to mean that there is a chance I'm making a difference, a chance that I don't plan on missing out on.
Now to counting. Go Heat!
