Ever come home from a game and feel like you just left a piece of your soul at the stadium? You’re not the only one. Sports is exciting. Adrenaline pumping, testosterone inducing action can get even the laziest of us off our feet and screaming at the top of our lungs.
Franchise owners like money. They're like the sleaziests strippers we’ve ever seen. They tell us they love us, they need usgyrate their hips, dance their dance, put on the show, whisper sweet nothings in our ears, and all we do is slide that money into…well, you know where we put the money.
Then they want more. They want to take you to the back room. The private room. They tell you there’s more. You look them over, you’re there and you know you’re going to pay. And when you’re in the back room, you look into their eyes. Those creepy glazed over eyes which stare into nowhere. And for whatever reason, you feel guilt instead of pleasure, but aren’t going to stop. So you let them keep taking advantage of you, and they keep going, and you try to concentrate, knowing that your money is paying for this. They tell you that they’re in college or going to go to law school, but you know the deal.
Somewhere in there, you regain focus, enjoy it again, then lose focus, stop enjoying, regain focus, etc. Like a lapdance, games ebb and flow, seasons ebb and flow. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes you just want them to end. Rarely are they truly satisfying for those who want to be satisfied the most. Somewhere in there, you realize you've lost your soul, and you've lost control.
Then you have to walk out of the room, and there is a reason they call it the "walk of shame." When the dance is over, when the games are over, those most satisfied are the ones pocketing the money and telling us to come back next time. And strangely, as the bad parts fade and the memory turns into a good one, they know you'll be back.
Think Al Davis, Jeremy Jacobs, Donald Sterling, Dan Snyder or Jerry Jones cares about you? They're already giving the next lapdance.