Pay a couple of hundred bucks just to freeze your butt off in the bleachers, pay nine bucks for a cup of beer and wait in line to use the bathroom?
To heck with that when you can stay in your warm home and watch the game on your 52-inch high def set with surround sound. You can drink a good beer at supermarket prices. You can pee at will in your own porcelain throne. And you don't have to worry about parking.
But hold on a minute! Before you hunker down for the season in your cozy man cave, take a moment to be objective. Watching games at home isn't always the idyllic experience we build it up to be.
Click on to check out the bad and the ugly of watching sports on television.
Not to promote bad sportsmanship, but most of us having taken at least some pleasure in heckling the other side.
“Safety School…. Safety School…”
“You Did Ster-oids!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)
Stadium floors are meant to have that sticky, ferment-y perma-layer of beer.
Your living room carpet is not.
Everywhere in the country you get these. Always the same. Some personality-less car lot owner sadly trying to have personality as he stands on his lot, over gestures and tells you about how insane he is to offer such low financing.
Stages of big-game-day-power-outage grief:
1. Denial: You stare dumbly at the snow on the screen. After a few minutes pass, you may disconnect, then reconnect the cable box, thinking that'll do the trick.
2. Anger: You slap the screen. You boo. You curse.
3. Bargaining: You get on your knees and plead with the utility gods. You promise that if the cable service will kick back on, you'll to listen to every word Cris Collinsworth says (as much as that makes you cringe). You'll sit through all the commercials. You won't even take a bathroom break.
4. Depression: You curl up on your futon couch with a beer and whimper.
5. Acceptance: You set out for the sports bar up the street.
Hey, we're the 12th man on the team, right? Those guys out there on the field (or court or track or course) need us.
In stadiums, we build up that sub-glottal pressure and quake those vocal cords until they hemorrhage.
A hoarse voice is a thing of pride, a Purple Heart of fandom.
But many of us live in apartments, townhouses or dorms. And not all of our neighbors are so passionate about sports. So our zeal for a home run, our fury for a bad call, our hunger for a turnover, must sadly be bridled.
Yeah, tailgating in your own driveway sounds fun and convenient at first, but once you settle down in that lawn chair, well, you just feel silly.
What's the losing team's coach going to say at the half other than, "yeah, we need to work harder and turn the game around"?
And the winning team's coach will pretty much always stick to the we-have-to-keep-up-the-intensity spiel.
Those cutesy kindergarten-style signs utilizing each of the first letters in the network acronym—enough already!
Hey, we all chuckled the first 10 times we saw one of these. We smirked for the next 50 or so times. Then came the frowns. The moans. By now, the repeated viewings feels like part of a systematic Psy Ops torture regimen.
Announcers, do you really need to fill air time that badly? Do you really think these ridiculously obscure, inane, meaningless numbers make you sound any smarter?
Here's a real gem of an example:
"James became the NBA's first player since 2008 to finish with at least 20 points, nine rebounds, eight assists, five steals and two blocks. The last one to do that? James himself."
First of all, the thing is just too solid. Don't you expect the swimmer to crash into it and crack her skull?
Second of all, according to Chris Chase of yahoo sports, the line is somewhat meaningless in that "it isn't a literal representation of the world-record swim." The line is a pace estimate that is based on the 50-meter splits of the record-setting time.
Could happen to you. Hey, you never know.
We want the facts. The play-by-plays. The thoughtful analysis. But too many of the announcers out there let their bromances and guy crushes etch away at their objectivity.
If you love Roger Federer for example [J.Mc, I'm looking at you], keep it to yourself.
With your butt parked on your sofa at home, there's not too much of a chance that you'll be catching a foul ball, getting an autograph, snagging a cannon-propelled T-shirt or getting a free Big Mac with your ticket stub.
At least if you are at the game, you're probably far enough away from home plate that you aren't forced to fixate on jackasses like the one in this video.
Endless fans agree that Joe Buck at the mic can ruin an otherwise good game.
A guy so unpopular that un-fans have set up the "Joe Buck Sucks" Facebook page. It has nearly 18,000 "likes."
Then there's "The Anti-Joe Buck and Tim McCarver Consortium" Facebook page with another 3,800 likes.
And for all your Joe Buck hating needs, buy your "Joe Buck Sucks" beverage sleeves for $3 a pop.
Wheeeeeee wheeeee wheeee, all of the way to the slaughter house. Stat!
Please Geico, stick with the Gecko. Or if you are going to make us watch your ad 50 times a week, how about introducing a Geico lingerie model? Yeah, put her in a hip-hugging harness up on a zip line.
Readers, let's start a write-in campaign to the ad execs.
Nothing like having fellow fans, be they friends or strangers, all around you to high five/chest bump/embrace when your team makes a big play.
The masses cheering all at once, the entire stadium swaying with energy—you miss out on all of that.
Guess you could always train your pooch to bark at a TD. Not much, but it's something.
Yelling at your LCD screen and stomping your slippers on the plush living room carpet is just not nearly as satisfying as adding your voice to an energized boo-chorus of thousands.