The Broncos game was on TV in the Rose Medical Center emergency room Sunday. I discovered this literally by accident.
My little finger came into unfortunate contact with a meat cleaver as I was dismembering a rack of barbecued ribs to be served at halftime. The staff at Rose patched me up during the predictable lull in emergencies that occurs during nearly every Broncos game.
Death may not take a holiday, but injuries take an occasional timeout during the playoffs. So my timing was excellent.
The staff sewed my finger back together, stuck me with a tetanus shot and sent me on my way in time for the fourth quarter. I had beaten the postgame ER rush.
If there’s anything that proves the myth of rugged individualism in the West is kaput, it’s the reality of the mighty sports collective.
Like most everywhere else, Denver fans wear their tribal colors, honor their hallowed warriors, chant team slogans and gather in groups to observe sacred game-day rituals, which usually include blue-and-orange hats, mashed avocados and cold beer.
You’re in Broncos country; there’s no sense fighting it. As cultural imperatives go, this one’s pervasive.
Alas, when normal activities resumed across the city after Sunday afternoon’s blowout, I wasn’t the only one in need of painkillers.
Denver’s well-being took a hit. Daniel Wann, a psychologist and expert in sports identity issues at Murray State University in Kentucky, said the 34-17 loss to Pittsburgh was not just the team’s loss, it was a blow to the city’s collective self-image. He’s seen the response repeatedly in two decades of research on sports enthusiasts.
Fans think of the team as an extension of themselves, he explained, so the team’s performance is intensely personal. Measurable changes in hormone levels can be documented after critical games, and sleep disturbances are common.
So for the moment, Broncos fans can be forgiven if they are wandering around bleary-eyed, wallowing in self-pity.
It never lasts long, though, Wann said. “Sports fans are amazing self-healers.”
Recovery definitely occurs in stages.
It begins with denial. “I can’t believe it,” the fans say. At this point it is critical for members of other tribes to avoid using the term “loser” or mentioning the words “It’s only a game,” even in jest.
The process moves on to anger, with sputtering fans calling sports talk-radio shows, blaming the officials and demanding that the coach be fired.
Often, inconsolable fans insist that a supernatural power is at work in their living rooms. They should have worn their lucky T-shirts, they’ll say, or they should have eaten three bratwursts and a bag of Doritos just like they did the time the team won the Super Bowl.
It’s clearly irrational, but roll with it. They’re bargaining as fast as they can.
Depression – often in the form of heartburn or a nasty hangover – is next.
Eventually, self-esteem is restored with the communal embrace of the legend that the winning team is the team of destiny, a team whose greatness is so awesome, even the proudest, strongest, most hirsute member of the tribe never could have overcome it even on his best day.
Face it: We thrive as part of a tribe, even one committed to the shallow pursuit of a few hours of mindless entertainment each week. So much psychological reassurance comes from the sense of belonging that for members of the collective, even crushing disappointment can be overcome quickly.
“We’re very social creatures,” Wann said.
At last comes acceptance. Fans begin planning their Super Bowl parties, many of them quietly rooting for the victors to win in the belief that only a truly invincible team could have conquered their noble warriors.
More avocados are purchased at this point, though usually with far less of a sense of anticipation.
And ribs will be strenuously avoided, at least at our house.
The tribe has spoken.
Diane Carman’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. She can be reached at 303-820-1489 or dcarman@denverpost.com.
