CU Athletics: Pointless but Beautiful

Columbia is a pretty active and dedicated place. People are goal-oriented here. They read and debate Marx; they spend all night in Butler studying for a Lit Hum quiz; they even launch strikes against the university. When they leave Morningside for the last time, many of them dedicate themselves to change.

Here, we operate under the assumption that there is a point to our education—that when we leave here, we will be able to make a point out of our lives. But, as I learned this fall while campaigning for John Kerry in Ohio, a lot of things in this world are actually pointless, without hope, already lost from the start. Perhaps that’s why so many people go straight to I-Banking after the Core. Perhaps Columbia is just our four years of being radical before the real world taps us on the shoulder and then punches us in our collective face. Maybe more things than we know are pointless.

Take, for example, being a sports fan at Columbia University. Pretty pointless, right? I mean, in the four years I’ve attended this fine institution, not much has changed in terms of athletics. The wins haven’t come, the hopes of dozens of Spectator columnists have been smashed. Fans today have the same hopes and dreams they had in 2001—that Columbia will one day reign supreme in the Ivy jungle... or, at least, push some other Ancient Eight powers around a bit. To be fair, the culture of sport here has changed in the last year or so thanks, in large part, to Joe Jones’ presence in Dodge. However, at this point, I have no reason to believe that Columbia sports will improve any time soon. And you know what? That’s fine with me.

Don’t get me wrong—I like winning. And I don’t want to sound like I’m deriding the athletic department or glorifying losing. Rather, I am just trying to say, in this, my last column, that there is merit in committing yourself to something you know is pointless. There is something special about screwing yourself over from the start. It’s like saying a big “fuck you” to the whole idea of winning—to the idea that our lives should have a “point.”

Frankly, I don’t care whether sports ever become a major part of the so-called Columbia “community.” The beauty of Columbia sports cannot be found in the win-loss column. Its beauty, if it has any, is found in the fan who knows that this season and the next are already lost but still cheers nonetheless. There is something special about being a sports fan at Columbia. It is oddly the most unconventional identity you can assume here. It just isn’t cool anymore to be a socialist rapper; one has to look to the obvious, everyday activities to distinguish oneself in Morningside. The perpetual underdogs—we are the ones who hope for something we know will probably never come to pass... we know the messiah of sport may never come to Dodge. As a fan, it is strangely refreshing to be able to watch sports expecting your team to lose; there is something liberating about rooting passionately for a team, about getting behind a team that is doomed to an 0-for season. Of course, a miracle season would be a welcome gift to us fans. In fact, it would be a dream come true. However, we, the fans, should not spend our time hoping for such a dream. The fact is: Light Blue faithful are different from all other fans across the world; though we are few in number, we don’t require winning or hope to cheer. In fact, it’s more fun when all hope is abandoned, when there is absolutely no point to our fansmanship. Our passion is completely irrational, completely pointless, and that’s what is so damn cool about us.

I have been fortunate enough to work with some of the coolest of the lot during my four years here. Before I shove off and say goodbye to my precious Friday column space, I would just like to thank two co-workers in particular, Nick Summers and Theo Orsher, aka T-Rex. I would also like to thank everyone else in the section with whom I have worked at one point or another. It has truly been a pleasure.

Covering sports remains one of my most cherished experiences at Columbia. It would not have been the same at some lame school like Brown, Penn, or even UCLA. Being a sports reporter at Columbia, let alone being a fan, is a strange profession, and I will cherish the memory of it for a long time to come.

Finally, I would just like to say thanks to those nine people who read my column over the years—thanks guys. And to the rest of the Columbia fans—don’t stop cheering and don’t stop complaining. Enjoy Light Blue sports while you can, you losers.