Why We Watch: A Love Letter to Sports (and the Those Who Yell at Refs)
Dear Friends,
Tuesday night, as I nestled into my cozy chair, wrapped in a blanket and absorbed in the predictable, soothing arcs of a Netflix series, my husband was pacing, sweating, and muttering words no yoga instructor would endorse. The Pacers were playing the Cavaliers in Game 2 of the playoffs—on Cleveland’s home court—and from the look on his face, you’d think he had a financial stake in the outcome.
He didn’t. Unless you count emotional investments, in which case, he’d bet the house.
Everyone expected Cleveland to win. Even Vegas gave the Pacers little hope, despite their stunning win in Game 1. I checked in occasionally (because marriage is, if nothing else, a series of side quests into each other’s interests): Pacers behind. Still behind. Closing the gap. Five-point deficit with seconds left. Cue the sigh; game over, right?
That’s when I heard it: the primal, guttural yell of a man betrayed.
He came storming out of the TV room, practically foaming at the mouth. “FLAGRANT FOUR!” he bellowed, like a lawyer objecting in court. “They didn’t call it! The refs—THE REFS—cheated us!” He stomped past me, hands waving in disbelief, a one-man Greek tragedy unraveling before my eyes.
I asked, gently, “Is the game over?”
“No! Few seconds left,” he snapped, before turning back toward his battle station. I urged him to go watch the end, already bracing myself for the funeral dirge of another close-but-not-quite Pacers game.
And then…
It happened.
A scream erupted from the depths of his soul—a sound I can only describe as part ecstasy, part wild animal, part teenage boy seeing his crush smile back. “WE WON! WE WOOOOON!” he howled, bursting back into the room like he’d just discovered fire.
Turns out, with just seconds left, Tyrese Haliburton pulled off a sequence so cinematic even Netflix would’ve rejected it as “unrealistic”: he rebounded his own missed free throw, ran outside the arc, stepped back, and drained the three-pointer to win by one.
By. One.
Friends, this is why we love sports.
Not because we expect to win. Not because it’s rational. Not because yelling at referees ever actually changes the outcome (though don’t tell him that).
We love sports because in a world where so much is scripted, filtered, edited, and algorithmically optimized, sports are gloriously, beautifully unpredictable. You never really know how it’s going to end.
Sometimes the hero saves the day. Sometimes the refs blow the call. Sometimes your team breaks your heart. And sometimes, just sometimes, they pull off a miracle when you’ve already given up hope.
Last night, my husband was reminded why he keeps watching, yelling, hoping, pacing. And honestly? So was I.
Here’s to the Pacers, to the buzzer beaters, to the heartbreak and joy of it all.
And here’s to all of us—with our cozy chairs, our Netflix queues, and our own version of the game—holding on for that last-second miracle.
Until next time,
Julie Bolejack, MBA
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