Steve Gleason - football is just a game

LINKSteve Gleason article Nola.com
I know football is just a game ­-- but when I was 7, I remember crying after the Seahawks lost a playoff game. As I grew older, I became more focused on my development as an individual player. In this way, I naturally became less attached to any specific pro team or the outcome of their games. I became less of a fan.

Eliot Kamenitz, The Times-Picayune
Steve Gleason leads the Who Dat faithful in the chant at the start of the game against Houston last fall.
On the field, if I lost a game, I was able to at least find some satisfaction in my effort and level of exhaustion. "Hey, we lost, but I played my heart out and gave it everything I had." That psychology may be misguided, but it was often useful.
This year, more than any year of my life, I have been able to consider the psychology of "the fan."
Players rarely maintain any ties to the teams they play for because more often than not, they leave for free agency, get cut or traded. In the business of football, relationships tend to sour, leaving all sides with a bad taste in their mouths -- especially the fans.
I was able to play for the same organization for eight years. I retired on my own terms, and the same coaches and staff are still in place. That's pretty fortunate.
Over the past 12 months while I have been tested, diagnosed and treated for ALS, key players and coaches with the Saints have been incredibly supportive. I have spoken to the team, attended weekly meetings, practices and sat on the sideline during games.
As I took my situation public and the team kept winning, it was as if we were inspiring each other. Surely, I am giving myself too much credit.
The point is, as the season progressed, and I became more invested emotionally, I turned into a full-fledged fan. The connection between a team and fans can be very dynamic.
Our season in 2006 was an example of a very positive dynamic: a city rebuilding while a team rebuilds. A city beginning to thrive as a team begins winning.
So, somewhere along the way during this 2011 season, I unconsciously began to correlate my physical health with the Saints' record. If my awful, no good, dastardly, terrible disease could be stalled or defeated with a Saints win, wouldn't that be cool? Considering how the Saints were tearing teams apart and exploding NFL records, it was an effective coping mechanism. Right?
Despite how my body progressed, it felt good high-fiving coaches and players in the locker room after games. Why not allow myself to be distracted on Sunday? I have to wake up every Monday morning scouring the earth for a solution to a problem that, supposedly, has no solution. It felt good to devote myself to the team.
Midway through the season the coaches asked if I wanted to join the team for a road trip. It has become more and more difficult to travel, so I took a rain check.
With the playoff game in San Francisco approaching, it seemed like an ideal situation for me to travel. My brother, Kyle, lived near the city, and I could catch up with my buddies Scott Fujita and Eric Johnson.
Better now than never, right?
In the hours before the game I found myself nervous. As we fell behind in the first quarter, the nerves increased. Players' nerves dissolve as the first whistle blows and physical contact is made. Fans' nervousness only crescendoes as a tight game wears on.
As the team pulled within striking distance, I sat hopefully with Kyle and my film partner Sean Pamphilon on the sideline. We were beggars, bowl in hand, AKA fans. Giving the only gift we could to the team: our hope to see them triumph.
Could we overcome five turnovers? Could we defy the angry 49ers fans? Momentum was building.
In the final two minutes as Jimmy Graham fell into the endzone, our sideline (including me) erupted. It was a simultaneous release of frustration and joy.
And just as quickly we were crushed. Saints lose.
Not until that final moment did I consciously recognize the association I had made as the season progressed. I told Kyle and Sean, "I actually thought that if the Saints won the Super Bowl it meant I would get better." Lame-O.
Flights home after away games can be very therapeutic, especially after a loss. I spent those few hours recalibrating my mentality.
Was I wrong to associate my health, to some degree, with the wins or losses of a sports team? Is this what fans do? Would it have been easier if the Saints were terrible, and I could just not care?
Joseph Campbell writes that, as humans, we are all looking for experiences that make us feel alive. I think that as we seek these experiences, the more fully committed we become, the more enriching is the experience. So we must put our emotions at risk, but the losses can be downright crushing. I think that's OK.
Clearly, whether the Saints won or not had little or no effect on my physical health. It's just a game. I still have to wake up Monday morning scouring the earth for a solution to a problem that, supposedly, has no solution.
But it's a game that gave me brothers like Scott Fujita, Drew Brees, Sean Payton and many others, men who are taking this extraordinary journey with me. We plan to find a solution regardless of who wins the Super Bowl.