Having been 21 years old for several months now, it has been easier for me to start looking toward the future more so than clinging onto things from my past.
Sports won't let you do that sometimes.
Anyone out there with a favorite pro team usually has an interesting reason for falling in love with the team. Yes, I said the L-word
but in a world where guys slap other guys on the butt and it's 100 percent acceptable, I don't feel too weird about it.
Sports teams always describe themselves as family, and that maxim couldn't be truer. From the owner to the fan in the cheap seats, everyone needs each other - how is that any different from family?
So, just like any family, there is a love that can only be described as what it is. I don't love my favorite team like I love my family, girlfriend or friends. I love my team in a really indescribable way.
Eventually the team becomes your team, and you live and die for every game. Wins leave you bragging to anyone who will listen (without punching you in the face). Losses leave you screaming at your team, Come on guys! because they will obviously listen. As part of the family, they have to. Just how does this all come to be? I would have to argue that there are a few ways to fall in love with a team.
Geography is usually the most prominent way. There are a ton of Steelers, Browns and Bengals fans from Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Cincinnati, respectively. If there's a pro organization from your hometown, chances are you are a lifetime fan.
Maybe you collected trading cards when you were little, and there was just that one card you couldn't part with. Maybe the player was amazingly talented or the hologram just made the card look so kick-ass, you couldn't part with it. Regardless, you loved the card, and eventually it made you cheer for the player and his team. Whatever the reason, any true sports fan remembers why.
So what triggered this retrospective stroll down memory lane? A man who eventually became only a number to me, a man I have blasphemously referred to as God more than once - just retired ... again.
The Pittsburgh Penguins' Mario Lemieux - his name means the best in French - entered the National Hockey League the same year I was born, 1984. Less than five years later, I was obsessed with him. My brother, a Wayne Gretzky fan, drove me to find my own player to cheer for. Super Mario was considered the next best player in the NHL, and I had a love for penguins. It just worked.
No. 66 never disappointed. Lemieux brought back-to-back Stanley Cups to Pittsburgh in 1991 and 1992 while racking up 690 goals and 1,033 assists (1,723 total points, good for seventh all-time) in just 915 games. That's almost averaging two points a game!
Mario the Magnificent beat Hodgkin's disease, a form of cancer, after being diagnosed in 1993. He retired during the 1996-97 season after suffering from back problems for years only to return to save the Pens from bankruptcy, buying the team himself. He returned to the game as a star player-owner and battled injuries but could still perform - he had 22 points in 26 games this season.
However, the man does want to see his kids grow up, and when he was sidelined with an irregular heart beat earlier this season, Lemieux finally decided to call it quits. I don't blame him. I would rather see him retire at 40 than die on the ice trying.
When a man is your childhood hero, inspiration to play a sport and savior of your favorite team, you start to get used to seeing him around. Good thing No. 66 left me with plenty of memories.
- Mark Shugar is a junior journalism major and sports editor for The Post. Send him an e-mail at ms314803@ohiou.edu. 17
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