Post Mortem, Part 1

So much for a bittersweet win/win situation. It turns out that having divided allegiances makes it pretty hard to enjoy a big game, especially when the team that's your favorite (by a hair) ends the season with a disappointing performance. As much as I was rooting for a Packer victory, I couldn't bring myself to cheer over dropped passes or careless penalties by the Giants, and I was too busy wincing at Green Bay's fourth quarter bungling to appreciate New York's resilience. As for The Interception in OT, and the 47-yard kick that was the stuff of legend (and yes, a record in Lambeau for a visiting team), I might have preferred getting a root canal, or even watching election coverage.
I thought I'd immediately get behind the Giants if they won. I was wrong. Instead, I did my fair share of moping and then some, all the while ignoring the part of me that insisted that on this of all days, there were more important matters to contemplate. I stroked my Packer helmet as if it needed consoling. I insisted the season was over for me and that the Super Bowl wouldn't be worth watching, then stormed off to bed (though not before scrawling "MLK" on the notebook by my computer). I ate two three-course meals within an hour of waking up this morning. I read and watched all the coverage I could get my eyes on, trying to spin an appealing narrative out of it. This loss just extends the legend of Favre, who will come back and go all the way next year. Or maybe he has no regrets; he's handed off the torch to Eli and the Giants will complete a storybook season by crushing Darth Vader & Co. in their quest for perfection. But no dice. The Packers were mediocre at best last night; there are no guarantees that they'll be good enough to get this far next year even if Favre does return; and I just won't believe the Giants can beat the Cheatriots until I see it.
So the pouting continued. But as I dug into my 10am serving of Belgian chocolate ice cream and caught sight of my notebook, I finally embraced the "better angels of [my] nature," and turned my attention to the voice that started nagging me last night: "How can you make such a big deal out of a game, and one that you didn't play in or even bet on, no less, particularly when it's about to be Martin Luther King Jr. Day?" Then I got an email from a friend (a Steelers fan) expressing the same sentiment, and I finally sat down to address the eternal question I've been meaning to write about for ages: Why do sports matter?