Sports and Religion

“I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball.” (“Bull Durham”, 1988)

Sports fans are more than just spectators; they are active participants in the religion of sports. For fans and athletes alike, sports provide a fulfilling sense of identity and community through its rituals, symbols, and relics.

Years ago, my family set out on a road trip to see every Major League Baseball Stadium in the country. Each stadium had a unique vibe and they each had their own traditions. The Anaheim Angels have stuffed “rally monkeys” that the fans hold up and shake when they cheer. The Phoenix diamondbacks have rattlesnake shaped rattles that the fans shake to make noise and distract the other team. Entering the stadium was like entering a whole different realm. The outside world ceases to exist and all that matters are the two teams about to play each other. The ritual of games is like a break from the monotony of everyday life; it’s when the end of the circle of routine veers out to become an enriching spiral.

 There’s something special about going to see a game rather than watching one on TV. Both rituals have distinct characteristics and superstitions. I like to think of watching a game on TV to be like a prayer group, whereas going to a game is like going to a religious service. Sports are the organized religion to correspond with the human need for play. Sports allow for play to remain present in your life past the age where play stops being socially acceptable.

Sports are a neutral zone. We create rules and narratives in attempts to make it all fair. In theory, the team with the most skill and the best technique should always win. But because of chance occurrences and weird coincidences, that is not always the case. Sometimes the wind blows too strongly in one direction or someone accidentally trips, but we chalk these unpredictable events up to result of superstitions. If we do not wear the right socks on game day or watch the game with the right people, everything will fall apart and our team will lose. In these superstitions, we create mythologies and stronger connections to our teams and our favorite athletes.

In 2006, Johnny Damon was traded from the Boston Red Sox to the New York Yankees. When he was on the Red Sox, he was known for his rugged look, but when he switched to the Yankees they made him clean up. My friend’s dad was the one who cut Damon’s trademark hair off, and to this day my friend has a box of Johnny Damon’s hair. That box of old hair is much more than just that, though. That hair is a relic; a myth; a symbol.