The Joy and the Pain
On sports and mental health
This might be a shock to most people, but the ‘Blog Boy’ moniker did not originate from me actually having a blog. A ‘blog boy’, as coined by Kevin Durant (https://www.theringer.com/nba/2018/4/14/17237990/blog-boy-kevin-durant-bill-simmons-warriors-shirt) is basically someone who posts online about basketball with more of a focus on things like advanced stats than actual watching/playing the game themselves. Before I got sucked into the vortex that is nzpol, I made this account to follow NBA twitter, which has rapidly become one of the main news sources for the NBA as well as home to completely pointless and toxic arguments where people blindly support their favourite players and teams (Sound familiar?).
I first got into the NBA back in 2015 after having got roped into playing some social basketball the year before. I didn’t exactly light the world on fire, averaging around zero points a game except the one fluke game I hit a few 3s, helping to lead our team to a second to last place finish. We did at least get the honour of John Key watching the game we played against his son’s team, who also happened to be one of the dirtiest teams we played against. I had fun though and decided I should probably get into the NBA. My friend recommended I should support an at that time up and coming team, the Golden State Warriors.
I think it partly stems from my OCD that when I get into something, I don’t get into it halfway. I watch all the games, buy the shirts, read the subreddit, learn about the ins and outs of all the guys on the roster. It became a form of escapism for times when I was struggling with my mental health. And when you’re rooting for a team, their success feels like it’s your success. And their failure like it’s your failure. It doesn’t make any logical sense for people getting paid millions of dollars to play a game to make or break your day or week, and yet it can. Especially when it’s something you’ve turned to as a respite from real stresses. It’s a dangerous thing when you become reliant on something completely out of your control for your own happiness.
2015 was the first year GSW had won the title in 40 years. I hadn’t expected them to win in the first year I started supporting them and I was elated. This continued into the start of the next season as they ran roughshod over the league and won 73 games in the regular season, the most ever. And then, well. I’ve joked before that I don’t know what the worst thing was for me in 2016: Trump winning or GSW blowing a 3–1 lead in the finals. The sad part is it’s not really a joke. Those finals hit me like a gut punch. My safety blanket, my escapism, my feeling of success and joy through the team’s success, had been ripped away. I was in a funk for weeks. The thing I had escaped to had become something to avoid. I couldn’t think about basketball, read about basketball, play basketball. Even now it still stings to see replays of that game.
The next few years were a similar whiplash. Superstar Kevin Durant joined the team and the Warriors went back to back in 2017 and 2018. I would be sick with anxiety before some big games in the playoffs, especially in 2017. I was overseas for work, lonely due to the awful time difference, sleep deprived and stressed out. I NEEDED the wins to feel good about something, I couldn’t lose that too. Luckily they did win, but that relationship with your team losing a game was deeply unhealthy. It’s hard to compare to the pure joy when your team wins a championship though. It was the opposite of 2016 in both those years. I was riding high for weeks. And then: 2019. Two crushing injuries to two of the Warriors’ best players cost them a title. I was more at peace than 2016 since at least it wasn’t a historic choke, but it still hurt.
Kevin Durant left after those finals, Steph Curry and Klay Thompson were hurt, and the team was downright awful in 2020, the worst in the NBA. It was weirdly relaxing. When your team is awful and expected to be awful, you take joy in any win but there’s not the same anxiety. I didn’t rely on the team for escapism and vicarious success because I knew they stunk. 2021 Steph Curry was back, and the team was back to mediocrity. Again there were some expectations and my stress rose. I’d get the same anxiety, sometimes even trouble sleeping, before big games. Especially if it had been a rough week, and god knows there’s been plenty of those the last two years. It all ended in disappointment of course, the Warriors didn’t make the playoffs this year. Which in a way was a good thing. It’s been great watching these playoffs as a neutral fan, getting hyped at the games but not the same stakes, that are in reality low, but feel so real.
I haven’t found a form of escapism that has higher highs and lower lows than sports, not even video games. When you’re in the midst of depression and anxiety spirals it’s easy to feel like you are a failure and achieving nothing. If you root for a team and they succeed, it feels like a success for you in a sea of failures. But if they fail, it feels like yet another kick when you’re down. And you have no control over the result, yes no matter how much you yell at the screen it’s not going to help the team win. Or help the refs wake up.
I love basketball and I’m going to keep following it and watching my team. But I’ve been reflecting a lot, from seeing England’s recent loss as well, on just how unhealthy fandom can be, especially if it’s something you come to rely on for your mental health. A bunch of overseas millionaires should not define your happiness. And after all in the end, as a fan, it is just a game.
