In a month’s time, Titletown U.S.A. — or just Gainesville as the rest of the country refers to it — could be drowning in hardware once again. Florida athletics are at an all-time high. Any number of teams could bring a championship back to The Gator Nation.
But for my inaugural column, I would like to interrupt UF’s anticipatory parade scheduling and tell you why I get a tad despondent watching all these title runs.
Look, I enjoy covering winning teams. It wouldn’t be much fun covering coddled cellar-dweller losers. But what irks me is watching all these successful squads and witnessing their fans’ reactions and thinking, “Damn. I desperately want to know what that feels like.”
See, I was born and raised an Atlanta sports fan.
Always will be, always miserably.
The ATL is a legendary sports city in a similar way Vanilla Ice is a notorious rapper. They’re a one-hit wonder tag-team with a bonus track of torture for the next millennium.
In 153 MLB, NBA, NFL and NHL seasons, the city that launched Sherman’s March has won just a single championship. A who’s who in the sports world including Henry Aaron, Dominique Wilkins, Deion Sanders, Chipper Jones, Doug Johnson — I mean, Michael Vick — Pete Maravich and Tom Glavine, captured one title while in Atlanta. It just makes me sad.
The city’s infamous postseason choking is so depressing it barely fazes people anymore. At this point, Atlanta is like an annoying but catchy Black Eyed Peas song: Everybody just rolls with it, too apathetic to change the radio. Every once in a while, a faint hope emerges. Unfortunately, in Atlanta, faith is quickly swallowed with deafening cynicism.
For years, the Hawks have been a mismanaged group of headcases with more personality disorders than the Kardashian clan. So even though they’ve won a second round playoff game for the first time in nearly 14 years, Philips Arena has been filled with Bulls fans.
The Falcons had the best record in the NFC a season ago, yet they flamed out in the playoffs, getting trashed by the eventual Super Bowl champs.
And that’s the lasting Atlanta sports legacy. It literally reads like a bizarro-political ad: Crushing dreams, squashing optimism and a guaranteed loss to the ultimate title winners.
The one time it didn’t happen, I wasn’t awake to witness it. When I was seven, the Braves — who are my most beloved team — won the World Series. But I didn’t get to hear Skip Caray’s famous call because I was asleep after a night of trick-or-treating.
I’ve rewatched Game 6 hundreds of times, but not knowing the feeling in the moment forever haunts me.
Every season with every team, I desperately hope that this will be the year.
Maybe this will be it. Maybe all the magic down here in Gainesville can take a trip up I-75.
