Following the sorrow of fans of sports, there is a fragment of time during which all feelings pass through their face. Features are twisted or freezing in place. The eyes are wide open and stare in the empty space as it reveals something great to another person. The mouth is open enough, perhaps because screaming from euphoria was ready to escape, if the fan door that knocks at the door of euphoria was answered.
One of the reliable places to watch these moments is to broadcast basketball on television. Sometimes I think about the Cameerson whose mission is to search for anyone in the crowd who wears their accounts extensively on their faces. There are classic moments in this sub -type of collapsed Fandom, those that you may have seen before, even if you do not like or pay a lot of attention to sport. Take, for example, the case of Roxan Chalifox, Piccolo player in Villanova, was, in 2015, in 2015 He immortalized during the madnessWhen North Carolina withdrew from the beloved beloved disorder, 71-68. Even with the stability of her team’s loss, even after the final whistle, her band had to do her work. There was a joyful noise that should happen even in defeat, even if the noise makers did not feel emotion to the mission, even if they were, as it was, in the midst of crying. This is the way I was born with a unique image. If there is a museum (or, at least, a coffee table book) combines examples of this very specific form of pain, the Chalvox will be a worthy cover-close to her face, among the ranks of her music colleagues, Piccolo is still installed on her lips, and plays through tears.
This is not funny, exactly, although I will lie if I say I was not a joy in disappointing in these low risks. There is a beauty for me in moments of sadness admirers of sports, and there is also, to some extent, comfort. Not for the grace of God, I am not a fan concerned, his hands on his head, elbows, drowned in my world of pain. It is not for the grace of God that I am not the only person sitting in a sea of standing, and they chanted from an opposition team, a camera that was enlarged on me, and friends send text messages to tell me that they saw me on television screens, and if not at the best hour for me.
One of this poor spirit was broadcast two weeks ago, after the American Professional League game between the Chicago Bulls team and Los Angeles Lakers, Los Angeles, reached what might be more unhappy than ever. By the end of the fourth quarter, the game looked somewhat on hand for Cress. With 12.6 seconds staying, the team rose five points – not safestly, although it is likely to be safe enough to secure victory. Then Chicago struck a triple indicator, and Lakers were cut into two. However, all Los Angeles had to do it was contained in the ball and provide some free throws. But wait! LeBron James threw a bad pass, which Josh Goshi stole, who moved to Kobe White, who struck a triple indicator, and now Licers was in some way, within a few seconds, at the bottom of one point. but! There was Austin Revis to save, driving to the basket after a period and getting the ball throw. Lakers was awake again, with only three seconds staying, and the bulls had no deadline. certainly now Victory was on hand. And yet! Gaiddi raised the cold Mary from Midokort, and his prayer was answered. The ball fell cleanly over the network just as the time ended, and the square in Chicago became not attached. The mob is about good. Fans jumped from their seats. Then the camera found it: Lone Laker fan, still standing amid waves of cheerful jumping and going, wearing a yellow shirt and purple Lackers.
The man’s face belongs to my favorite sub -works of devastating sport expressions. He seemed almost in the middle of the collision, but it was not a smile of joy. It was a smile stained with disbelief and a little contempt, a type of smile that you may find for yourself if someone insults you with an unsuccessful width, or enters into your home and made a mistake from the work of the art of your children who decorate the refrigerator, a smile that seems to indicate that its wearer may lose his mind. The man’s eyes seemed vacant, as if they had still staring at the net that the ball had won within a few moments. He did not spoil his hardship. There were few ways to lose Lakers that game, however they managed to find it all.
I cherish this sad fan because I cherish what lies under many of these defeated expressions, along with the immediate visceral of tears, screaming or falling. The moment of the fan in the pain is also a moment of the fan in awe. I was there, watching my team losing in unbearable ways. I am no longer tweeting a lot, but I remember one of the evergreen that I published about the beloved Columbus team, the main football team in my city, which I loved since its inception, in the 1990s, which, in recent seasons, became notorious to calm the threads or relationships incredibly late in the matches. Dear death dead. Nothing is proven late. The tweets say, “Edgar Alan Bou was haunted and tormented the word” never “,” I will live the rest of my days inhabited with the phrase “another late goal that Columbus abandoned.” I tweeted it in June 2023. I remember the moment because I was in a game, on the field, where the Columbus crew occupied the lead until the opposition team scored in the past few minutes of the game, which led to a tie. When the situations were emptied, I stayed standing, staring at the nets that are lowered from the goals, as if more time may be achieved to correct the betrayal of the universe. Then I collapsed in my seat, laughed a little, and wrote some words on my phone, and the words I have thought about at the time since then, whenever I watch Columbus, the late late goal is waived. It may bring me the loss on the verge of madness, but it is madness disorganized with a kind of pleasure in the fact that I saw a miracle, even if it was a miracle for another person.
This is only how things go. Yes, to the naked eye of the camera, there is destruction, but through another lens you can look at someone, a slightly open mouth or slightly curly, without a language, Do you believe this?? ♦
