Vicarious Ownership

Yes, it's been a while since I started this blog, and I'm only on Post No. 2, so if you were expecting a weekly post from me (like I was), sorry to disappoint.  It turns out Puk doesn't have thots all that often, and when he does he's typically too lazy to write them down.  But he had one today, so here goes.  (On a side note, Puk will no longer be referring to himself in the third person.  Again, sorry to disappoint.)

I think it's interesting that we tend to claim a sort of ownership over or identity with things that aren't explicitly ours.  A prime example of this is with spectator sports.  Most of us either are avid fans ourselves, or we know plenty of people who are. (I'm in the latter group, as you'll soon find.)  Since the NBA playoffs just ended, let's use professional basketball, and since I'm currently a resident of Utah and most of my peers are Utahns, let's take a hypothetical Jazz fan named Wilhelm. (Wilhelm's name never gets picked as a hypothetical, and I felt bad for him, okay?)  Wilhelm watched every game during the regular season, he followed the stats of his favorite players, he cheered when they scored, and he booed after every bad call.  Their wins were his wins, and their losses were his losses, and how he felt at the end of the day or week depended almost entirely on a game that happened many miles away from his television set, over which he had absolutely no control.  They couldn't hear a word he yelled at them through the screen, and it's unlikely they would ever listen to him if they could.  And when he wasn't watching the games, he would still talk about them with his friends, either critiquing their last game's performance, or speculating on the outcome of the next one.  And of course if there were any non-Jazz fans among his colleagues, he would be sure to brag about "his" team whenever he got the chance.  Sound familiar?

So why does Wilhelm do this year after year?  What's his real connection to them?  Maybe he lives in Utah, or he used to, and they are a symbol of state pride to him, so that when they win, they bring Utah (and in turn, himself) the respect he feels it (he) deserves.  Maybe he was a fan of theirs when they weren't so good, and having stuck with them through the hard times feels a sense of camaraderie or kinship with them.  Maybe he considers them an underdog, and wants to see them beat teams that are more "favored", because maybe he sees himself the same way, and their wins give him hope.  Maybe a few of their players saved him from a burning building when he was a kid and he feels he needs to repay them with his loyalty.  Maybe.  Actually he probably doesn't know any of the players personally, and it's doubtful that any of the players would know whether he's a fan of theirs or not.  Maybe one or two of them are actually Utah natives (I have no idea), but in a few months they'll probably be traded to another team and be just as happy.  Yet even without that personal tie, Wilhelm somehow feels connected to them enough to claim them as his.

I used to think this sort of thing was ridiculous, but then I realized that I do the same thing with my favorite bands, with my church, with anything having to do with my home state of Virginia, or with the east coast in general -- as if I had any ownership of any of these things.  I suppose it's a natural desire in us as humans to feel a sense of belonging, like we're part of something bigger or better than ourselves.  People join causes because of this, or political parties, or the military, or clubs, or churches, or teams, or whatever we feel we can identify with.  But we go one step further, and we equate our identity with that of the collective.  Anyway, I just think it's interesting.