The Nature of Obsession

As I sat in class yesterday morning, a group project that I was a part of came on in front of the class.

Part of the project was a narration of something on camera. That something just so happened to be the Rangers’ 6-2 win Wednesday night over the Indians.

This was not the first instance of the Rangers being shown in one of our group projects. We’re only three weeks into the quarter. I can trust that you, humble reader, can determine what my reputation has become in this class.

“Again? You must really be obsessed with this. It’s like crack for you. You’ve got it going right now!”

(A true statement. I did have MLB.tv showing the game on a computer on the side of the room. But there was no sound, so it’s not like it was distracting anybody. I was only periodically looking over there. Whoops, bit of a long aside.)

“Well…yeah. I mean, it’s better than normal crack, right?”

This was the conversation my professor and I had on the subject, before the next group’s project came on screen and he moved to analyzing their work.

While initially embarrassed, I’ve come to the conclusion that being so obsessively consumed with a concept – Texas Rangers baseball, in this case – is a good thing, and I believe that my professor’s comment is a compliment.

Then yesterday’s game happened.

Games like that (which the Rangers have shown an alarming affinity for this season) probably take time off of my life. Not a lot, but probably a few days each. (From the corner I overhear: Germans? Don’t worry, he’s rolling.)

Games like that make me wish I didn’t care so much. Games like yesterday’s make me wish I could watch it like a Jason Bourne movie. Yeah, they’re great movies. Yeah, Matt Damon is a great actor that throws himself into those roles. But are you really going to care about those movies 15 minutes after you leave the theater? Not really.

That’s the way I wish I could treat Ranger games when they lose in EXCRUCIATING fashion like yesterday’s.

But I can’t. And after some thought yesterday, I kind of like the way I am.

You see, I like that baseball means a little more than it should. I’ve come to grips with that.

There are more important things in life than baseball. I understand that. What’s going on in Washington or Iraq is much more important than the travails of a silly little baseball team from Arlington, Texas.

But that watching-your-team-compete, seeing-them-get-down, waiting-for-them-to-rally, OH-that-was-a-big-pitch, we’re-still-in-this, just-need-a-couple-baserunners, come-on-one-time-Josh, go-go-GO-GO-GO-BALL, YEAAAAAAAAHHHHH feeling?

Nothing beats that feeling.

Is it unhealthy? Sure.

Is it antisocial? Yeah.

Is it insane? Well, of course.

I know that I am a rabid, unstable, out-of-control diehard Rangers fanatic. (Not that you aren’t.) Yes. I’m obsessed.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.