Let’s face it: every nerd is just a frustrated athlete. Deny it all you want, my fellow Star Wars-obsessed brothers, but you wanted to be the all-star quarterback or shortsst a frustrated athlete. Deny it all you want, my fellow Star Wars-obsessed brothers, but you wanted to be the all-star quarterback or shortstop, the Jordan-esque dunker, or the new Nature Boy at some point. And if not for lousy hand-eye coordination, you would have been, right?
My one and only experience with any sort of organized sports came with T-ball (the minors of Little League), and I spent most of my time in the outfield watching the pretty clouds float above. We’re talking about having the ball perched on a tall stick, so that you could hit it nice and easy. I think I got a few singles and one double, but mostly I was in it for the free sodas at the end of each game.
Anyway, nerds and sports go together, just not in the most obvious way (i.e., guys with glasses can’t make touchdown passes). Most sports are numbers-driven, which is to nerds what cheerleaders are to football players. Nerds remind you of the game’s past, because they write all the books about it. George Will helped foster the myth of Tony LaRussa as a great baseball manager, all evidence to the contrary. So nerds have more sway in the sports world than you might think.
I recently compared a Jane Austen novel to the recent Super Bowl — in an academic setting, no less. Clearly, I need an intervention. In terms of geek-speak, Eli would be the Luke Skywalker of the NFL, a kid with a golden arm and a whole galaxy waiting for him to live up to his promise.
I suppose envy might come into play (the popularity of sports-themed video games is almost as huge as revenge-fueled violent games, both of which are outlets for the popularity-oppressed in high school). But I’d like to think that my own particular fascination with sports comes from an appreciation of the drama that can occur on the field. The entertainment world is tightly scripted, even the so-called “reality” shows. But there is no script when two teams or athletes of equal measure meet on the field of play. Things can be planned, but there’s that intangible element, a David-vs.-Goliath aspect to many contests, and a love of surprise. Someone wins, someone loses, but it’s never settled until the final minute on the clock. Someone gets to be the hero, and someone gets to be the goat.
Sports speak to the imagination the same way that fiction does. When I used to stand out on the front lawn, tossing a ball into the air and counting how many times I caught it, I wasn’t imagining myself as a scrawny kid but as the Red Sox’s centerfielder, saving a game by catching a Yankees flyball. A jock might be the nerd’s natural enemy, but he’s not really that different.
