The good, the bad and the painful

Sports fanaticism fascinates me. What makes somebody paint their face and wear a ridiculous outfit in public? What makes people jump through tables after coating themselves with mustard? We call these folks diehards, yet in most other walks of life, such behavior could be cause for institutionalization
And that’s just for the outward displays of fanaticism. Worse yet are the inner ragings a loss can trigger. Every fan base thinks they have it bad – even Cowboys backers claim hardship, which is ridiculous. Cubs fans once had the market cornered on angst, but no longer. In the NFL, 12 teams have not won a Super Bowl, some due to epic heartbreak. Atop that list, I put the Buffalo Bills, no matter what you Vikings fans may say.
My mother, God rest her soul, once made the mistake of calling, giddily, to celebrate a Bills win over Tennessee before time had expired. That’s the only time I ever hung up on her. Hey, that was an NFL playoff game, and there was no room for error. Naturally, after the Bills kicked to Tennessee with 16 seconds left, the Titans won by returning the kick for a touchdown, thanks mostly to an illegal forward pass. The other factor was my mother being a jinx. In Nashville they call that the Music City Miracle. To me it’s just life as a Bills fan, a calling that ranks high on my list of blessings and on my list of curses.
I spent last week in Buffalo, moving dad home. On our first night back in the foursquare house he has lived in for 52 years, we celebrated an almost perfect win over New England … late into the night. The next evening, as the city recovered from a Belichick exorcism, it snowed 22 inches and we couldn’t drive for days. A city plow finally showed up 48 hours after the heavy stuff stopped. So what. The Bills had won.
While waiting and shoveling, I helped push several impatient drivers out of snowdrifts. Everyone was wearing Bills gear – even little kids and young mothers. Nearly every conversation that didn’t mention snow focused on Bills vs. Chiefs. Sports talk heated up all week. On the flight to Chicago last Friday, one-third of the passengers were headed for Kansas City and sharing the Bills Mafia password, “Go Bills.” There’s something soothing about such commonality in a time when we can’t agree on anything. Sports does that. It can bring us together. That’s good.
And when you call your “home” a place whose claim to fame is leading the country in snowfall, in a community of friendly, hard-working people that was once referred to as “the armpit of the East,’’ you need something to help keep your head held high. For many Buffalonians, that has always been the Bills. That is also good.
Then Sunday arrived. Somehow, the Chiefs rallied to tie after trailing by three with 13 seconds left, then won in overtime. Those too-common happenings are why I ignore calls or texts during games, unless they come from actual Bills fans. Few others understand the depths, though my poor children are learning. As I told the youngest when it was over, before leaving to wander the streets aimlessly, “this is the essence of being a Buffalo Bills fan.”
Afterwards, some called the Chiefs’ win the “greatest NFL playoff game ever.” Maybe for the Chiefs, or for an NFL fan hoping for excitement. I call it one of the three worst games ever, behind only Jan. 27, 1991. That’s the last time I felt this much sports-induced pain. Earlier that day, my red-headed girlfriend had told me we were done and that I needed to find somewhere else to live. When the Super Bowl that night ended in a Bills’ loss on a wide right 47-yard field goal – incorrectly rated one of the best Super Bowls – the streets of Champaign called. I had no girlfriend. I had nowhere to live. Worst of all was that the Bills had lost the Super Bowl. You can always find a girl or somewhere to live. As a fan, you can’t change the game.
Sunday night I pounded the pavement in Elmwood. It was different. My wife puts up with me … she even lost her voice yelling for the Bills. I have a place to live. But it’s the same, too. In recent years I have read many obituaries of deceased Cubs fans lauding their long-awaited World Series win. Every time, I wonder, will I get to write that?

Contact Jeff Lampe at (309) 231-6040 or jeff@wklypost.com