The only moment that exists is now. And people who have died (most likely) don’t feel anything about it now. And whatever we do for future generations may or may not matter, since someone who isn’t born can’t feel one way or another about it, and those that are born had no say in the matter.
So over the course of this seemingly absurd life, there are ways we as humans rebel against it. And find joy and meaning in moments, conversations, experiences.
And another way we do is through sports. What’s the difference whether your sports team wins or loses? If they lose, there’s another game or tournament or world cup to come. If they win, you get the joy of celebrating something that you had no say in. And often with people (sometimes thousands or even millions) of people who absurdly feel the same way.
That is the value, and joy, found in sports.
There are sports that divide fans, but the fact that a bunch of people chasing a ball or whatever around a patch of grass can make people hug randoms around em and scream with raw passion needs no explanation. It just is. It is living. And passion without necessary explanation.
And it’s not only about passion and joy.
And this is how Albert Camus, a former goalkeeper growing up in Algeria, saw it:
Sports can also make you feel physically sick, which is how me and my mate felt in January 2015 in Sydney, when we were on TV looking like we’re about to hurl, as Australia were desperately clinging to a 2-1 lead deep into injury time in the Asian Cup final.
