We Just Can't Help Ourselves: Loyalty to Lovable Losers

There's been a lot of talk lately about "the current economy", or "economic uncertainty", or "when am I going to lose my job?" When phrases like these get thrown around, most sensible people start to think about ways they can streamline their budgets.

You want any adjustments to your lifestyle to be minimal.

So while you might think about cutting back on your one-a-day Grande sugar-free vanilla, non-fat, light whip, half-caff latte habit at the Bux, you're probably still wondering who to take with you to MLB Opening Day in April or to the NHL/NBA Playoffs in May.

Sure, you complain about the cost of tickets, the overpriced stadium beer and FuNachos (Fu Nachos? Fun Achos?) and the shady guy who takes your money at the parking lot between 3rd & 4th streets, but you're still willing to cough up your hard earned dough for a few hours of escapism.  

You do this, even though the product you're watching hasn't been to the playoffs in 10 years, your kid needs a new TI-85 graphing calculator, and your spouse wouldn't mind if you did some laundry for once. You have other things to do, better ways to spend your money, and your team is projected 4th out of 5 in the division.

Why do you still go?

A columnist for the Buffalo News once wrote, "When the game is on, the pain is gone." Now, you might disagree with that statement at first glance, but stop and think for a second: when your guys are breaking through center ice, setting up a 2-on-1, there is nothing else in this world except for that play and the anticipation of a goal or big save that come along with it.  

Likewise when there are men on first and third with one out, and you don't know if they'll try the squeeze or the third base coach is going to give the batter the green light. You lose yourself in the play or you take solace in the analysis of the minutiae.

You love it, the escapism of it all, and you will pay what they tell you to pay to be a part of it.

Now, much of that willingness to pay might come from your roots.

For example, those traditions you and your dad created in front of the television on cold February nights with a fire roaring and hot cocoa in your hand, a Molson Golden in his, while he would explain why that penalty was called or why Phil Housley works the point the way he does. And how there was never a defenseman as good as Bobby Orr and there never will be again.  

Or it is born of May afternoons, taking in the first half of a doubleheader while you were supposed to be in class, but your dad wrote a note that said you had a dentist appointment. So there you were, eating hot dogs and popcorn and getting a sunburn you'd have to try and explain away or hide the next day.

These memories are as much a part of us as eating or sleeping or walking the dog.

So when it comes time for fans in "loser" cities like Buffalo or Cleveland or Cincinnati or Minneapolis to make a choice, what do you think will happen? Will the fan base suddenly wilt in the face of high ticket prices and simply be satisfied with watching the game on TV?

Many of us are so accustomed to the cost, we build it in to our yearly budgets. No raise or bonus this year? Well, looks like it'll have to be a flex package instead of the full season.  

The fact that the ownership has done little to bolster the team in the offseason to put them in a position to make the playoffs does not cross your mind.

Well, it does, but only when you're listening to talk radio or drinking beers with your buddies down at the corner bar. You'll complain about these losers who make all this dough, and while they go .500 again this year, you're paying more than you did last year.  

Or, how about the "winner" cities that are feeling some real pain the wake of rotting housing markets and corporate layoffs—Atlanta, Boston, Dallas, Detroit, Pittsburgh, San Jose? How will the fans respond to higher ticket prices as a result of past success when the mortgage is past due and you don't know where the tuition payments are going to come from for next semester?

What gives? Why do we do this to ourselves?

This is the beauty and the beast of a free-market economy.

Being from Buffalo, I'll use my beloved Sabres as an example: an article on Yahoo! Sports over the summer (and a recent follow-up blog) discussed the issues and fundamental flaws of variable price ticket structures, much like the Sabres use for different games throughout the regular season.  

This looks great on paper—different teams, different nights, different prices.  Fair enough, right?  

But there has been a lot of debate over the effectiveness of these plans in terms of "fairness" to families and groups who have been loyal to a team for however many years they've been loyal, especially when it comes to those nights when the great teams or long-standing rivals come to town.

On those nights, tickets can jump anywhere from $25 to $125, depending on your seat location.  

Suddenly Steve, Sue, and the kids can't afford to see the Maple Leafs or the Bruins or the Penguins when they come into town because an extra $100 just to get in the door takes a bite out of the already stretched budget.

Why the price increase in a region that is not exactly thriving and is already a well-known so-called "small market"?  

In Buffalo, it is all about location and proximity and a unique 75-mile radius: head in any direction a little more than an hour out of HSBC Arena, and you'll encounter a diverse selection of hockey fans.  

Pittsburgh, Detroit, New York (Rangers & Islanders), and Toronto supporters are interspersed among Sabres fans in Southern Ontario, Western New York, and Northwestern Pennsylvania. Naturally, when these teams come to town, along with Buffalo's divisional rivals Boston, Montreal, and Ottawa, there's a greater draw from the fanbase.  

As an owner, you'd be crazy to not get a little extra coin for the ticket from 50,000 Leafs fans from Hamilton, Ontario, who don't have to pay $250 for a ticket to Air Canada Centre—a ticket they can't get anyway because it is always sold out.

Like a lover who torments you and plays with your emotions, team owners have figured out how far to push fans to still see their teams play their most despised (or most respected) enemies, whether it is at home or on the road. I imagine it going a little like this in the front offices:

"OK," they say. "We'll charge $45 for a ticket in the upper 300s to a Tuesday night game against Phoenix, and if we sell out, awesome, if not, no big whoop, we'll still do well on concessions and souvenirs. Win or lose, it doesn't matter, we're putting meat in the seats. Then, on Friday when Toronto is in town, we'll charge $75 for the same ticket, and the place will be sold out. We hate Toronto, and Toronto fans will pay anything to see their team! Brilliant!"

In Buffalo, team owner Tom Golisano and the Sabres will continue to charge whatever the market will tolerate. Approximately 78 out of 82 regular season games are broadcast by Rick Jeanneret & Harry Neal on MSG, while three games (I think) are on Versus and one will be on NBC.

If Buffalo fans aren't going to the games, they're watching on TV, so advertising revenue will continue to be generated. The owners still win.

And if there's one thing I've learned about Sabres fans, if you've got tickets but don't want to go, you've got 5 people in your family or neighborhood who would love to.

The tickets will always get sold in Buffalo. Because just like in Toronto, regardless of the product on the ice, and there is a remote chance that they can win on any given night, people will show up. That's what they've been doing for as long as they can remember.

I've spent my entire life in one of two "loser" cities: Buffalo and Cincinnati. I knew I'd be comfortable in Cincinnati because we losers can smell our own kind.

Here's what I found out when I got here five years ago: regardless of the economy, people will buy tickets to the lovable losers—whether they be Bengals or Reds. Because "when the game is on, the pain is gone."

Just like in Buffalo. We forget that life is crappy for two or three hours while we're watching the game because sports hope springs eternal.

At Great American Ball Park, the Cincinnati Reds have the craziest madhouse of a stadium on Opening Day, full of pomp, history, and tradition. It is a beautiful and incredible thing to behold, and I will always attend, regardless of where I live in the world.  

Because for at least one day, there is the chance that the Reds can win the World Series. Everyone in the city honestly believes it... for at least one day.

The pricing, the economics of it all, will fluctuate—that's a fact. But the loyalty never dies. That's why people, whether in Cincinnati or Buffalo or Cleveland, will keep coming back, year after year, like an abuse victim to a violent lover.

We always hurt the ones we love, and the ones we love always hurt us.  

And I don't think we'd have it any other way.