After ISIS Massacre of Real Madrid Fans, Muslim Lives (Briefly) Matter

 

ISIS kill 14 Real Madrid fans at supporters club

Horrible story, from Vice

According to AS, a Real Madrid fan club in Iraq was targeted by Islamic terrorists during a meeting, with 16 people being killed, and 20 more injured. The attack occurred in the town of Balad, about 75 miles north of Baghdad, where at least 93 people were killed in three car bombings yesterday. Gunmen wielding AK-47s entered the cafe where about 50 club members were meeting and began firing, leaving a grisly, blood-soaked scene.

The president of the group, Ziad Subhan, told AS that the Islamic terrorists “don’t like football, they think it’s anti-Muslim. They just carry out attacks like this. This is a terrible tragedy.”

That ISIS are the kind of guys who think everything that makes life even slightly worth living is anti-Muslim is as wretched as it is, at this point, axiomatic. It’s a blinkered and blood-soaked worldview that makes the simple act of watching soccer one of almost unimaginable bravery. It makes the world as parched as the land. But the story also has this.

Real Madrid is aware of the attack and released a statement expressing condolences for the victims and their families. The team will wear black armbands during tomorrow’s match against Deportivo.

Is this the first time that Muslim victims of ISIS have received international support and sympathy on the sporting level? The sympathy gap was made obvious to everyone after the back-to-back attacks on Beirut and Paris in November, which The Atlantic more accurately called “the empathy gap.” There is of course the idea that simply by being Muslims, they have brought it on themselves, and are victims, sure, but somehow also culpable. But more than that, a feeling that those lives are disposable. Partly because they are Muslim, but also because we assume that they are going to die, just from living over there. It’s an unspoken and unexamined feeling that they don’t feel pain, or that their losses aren’t as wrenching as ours. (TNC talked about this with the lives of black men in Between the World and Me).

So it is easy to be cynical and say “ok, so their lives matter only because of sports, right?” But if it is a shared love of sports that lets people recognize a shared humanity, then all the better for sports. Let’s just hope we remember this when people who aren’t cheering for a team are slaughtered.

73 Wins

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This was always going in. This will always go in.

There’s a weird temporal oddity among former athletes that “the good old days” stopped on the exact day that any individual in question retired. That is the exact day that sports stopped being “old school”, which is why you can have guys who were considered obnoxious new-era punks in the 1990s looking down on today’s players. Every ex-jock with a microphone has two contradictory stock phrases, both of which begin with “in my day”, and which concern how you couldn’t get away with something, or how you used to be allowed to get away with other things.

That’s normal human stuff. We always want to believe things were better when we were younger, when we had the world licked. That the passage of time doesn’t just highlight a personal diminution, but general dissipation. It’s why you have people who came of age in the 90s and 2000s saying that kids today don’t know how to drink like we did, or that they have stupid slang and talk like idiots and listen to terrible music. We don’t want to accept that even if the world isn’t exactly progressing, it’s refusing to stand still. It’s why we all secretly believe our own deaths are the actual end of the world.

The sports’ fan corollary to this is that no team is ever as good as your favorite growing up. As a Bulls’ fan, this is particularly relevant, right as the Warriors are about to win their 73rd game, breaking the 95-96 Bulls record for wins in a season. For 20 years, one of the main highlights for me as a fan was when the last team in the league got its 11th loss, usually in December, no later than January, and I knew the record was safe. I never popped champagne like the 72 Dolphins, but there was quiet gratification.

That never came this year, and by January it seemed inevitable. The last week it looked like they might “stumble”, but a wildly impressive win against San Antonio makes it look like a done deal. They won’t lose to a feisty Grizzlies team at home. And they deserve it. While I’m not happy the record is gone, these Warriors are amazing. There is nothing better in sports right now than watching Steph Curry ball. If it had been LeBron’s Heat teams, it would have been painful (I love LeBron, but come on). It would have been like when Emmit Smith broke Walter Payton’s record. That sucked. Bears fans would have been ok if it was Barry Sanders, who never had an offensive line and was a joy to watch. His was the inventive joy that made sports so great and meaningful. These Warriors are the same. The passing of the torch is odd and elegiac, and it makes me sad, slightly, but it is fine. Time passes, and if we can’t accept that, then we’re that loud guy at the end of the bar yelling about the good old days. We’re the self-blinding anti-prophet who refuses to think that maybe, just maybe, there’s some good music coming out. We’re the vain mummy who refuses to accept the reality of death, and therefore never actually lives.

Philosophy aside. The question is: who would win? The Bulls or the Warriors? I think that when people argue about which rules they’d play under it is kind of moot. The talent on boh teams would adjust. Hand-checking doesn’t stop someone who can pull up from 28 feet like he’s hitting a layup. And MJ would obviously thrive in any era.

What it comes down to is if the Bulls have enough offense vs. if the Warriors could actually run their offense. Klay Thompson is a great player, but I think Scottie would shut him down. People talk about Draymond vs. Rodman down low, and how Rodman couldn’t score, which is true, but people forget what a bruising and powerful defender Rodman was. Draymond would be working for his points (yes, rule changes mean that Rodman couldn’t be as aggressive, but great players- and Rodman is one of the greatest players of all time- adjust). Ron Harper would hound Curry, who would get his, but not as easily. On the other side, Igouldada and some of the Warriors other players would be able to move against weaker Bulls players who played softer D, like Kukoc- who himself would be a matchup nightmare. The X-factor, of course, is what happens when Phil Jackson is telling a young Steve Kerr his gameplan: does the Steve Kerr who is coaching Golden State somehow remember it suddenly? Does that change everything? Will Kerr be both simultaneously playing and remembering what happened, while he’s coaching? And will that make him insane? These are legitimate questions!

Nah, there’s no question. Bulls had Jordan. Chicago in 5.

A Few Thoughts on The White Sox, Of Interest Only To Me

  1. 1-0! The Cubs aren’t the only first-place team in town!
  2. On more of an ontological level, nearly every season projection has had the Sox as a “possible surprise team”- that is, if things break right, they could be able to make the post-season. The questions that rise: is “consensus surprise pick” a logical impossibility? And is “possible surprise” so vague as to be entirely meaningless?
  3. On that, my prediction is that they’ll win somewhere between 78 and 130 games, depending on my mood and what is happening at any given moment. Adam Eaton gets hit by a pitch in the first? Big on-base team this year! Caught stealing two batters later? We’re not going to score any runs. The joy of baseball is that it is a long a long and languid season, punctuated by impossible excitement, and that the moment-to-moment doesn’t matter, but you can’t convince my imagination of that.
  4. The defense already seems markedly better. Yes, the smallest possible sample size, and yes, this is just the anecdotal eye test, but come on. It can’t be any worse than in 2015, unless a new punitive MLB rule forbids the outfield from wearing gloves.
  5. I have no idea yet if Brett Lawrie is a delightful goon or an obnoxious hypercaffeinated bro. Maybe both? It’s the Swisher Variance.
  6. Jimmy Rollins can still move, man. I hope that when I’m 37 I still have most of my speed. (Note: I am, and nope)
  7. Another nice thing about baseball is that you can flip and watch a bonkers awesome basketball ending and not miss much of your game. Unfortunately, because I was only watching intermittently, I didn’t realize I had the “UNC broadcast” and couldn’t figure out why they were only focusing on their crestfallenness. I was actually angry- are there not any Villanova fans, I complained bitterly to my wife- and conjuring up all sorts of nonsense bias scenarios. Along with speed, a sense of proportion and rationality is the first thing to go.

Idle thoughts on basketball

And not even college basketball, or the Warriors, both of which at least have the benefit if currently being interesting. I’m watching the Bulls play the Knicks, and wondering if there has ever been a superstar with as pointless a career as Carmelo Anthony. He’s undoubtedly one of the best players of his generation, and has largely been healthy, but has maybe one memorable playoff run?  Can you really think of a signature moment? His most interesting time in the biggest market in the league came when a Chinese-American kid played pretty well for three or four weeks. Even his annoying drama with the trade looked Punch and Judy compared to the media Gotterdammerung of The Decision.

This is completely pointless, of course, but I can’t think of a parallel. Until recently, he was a top-5 player, but no one has cared about any of his teams or his career. Even the jokes about the Knicks seem perfunctory.  It’s not even a “what if” career; it’s a minor shrug, a weird blip for someone who could be a first ballot immortal.

In Which I Converse With My Dearly Departed Father About a .207-Hitting Muppet And His Son…

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A scenario in which one can reasonably assume that the dead can interact with the living, but can’t get ESPN. 

Bob: Hey!

Me: Whoa! Oh, hey.

Bob: Isn’t it a little early for a beer?

Me: It’s uh…I don’t think…I mean

Bob: (laughs uproariously, in surround sound)

Me: (laughs uproariously)

Bob: So, how are our beloved White Sox doing? How do they look this year?

Me: Well…they’re the talk of spring training! Every news outlet is doing a story on them. Even People magazine!

Bob: Well, that’s great! They must have gotten some powerful lumber-wielders and slick leather-slingers to complement their already fearful coterie of flamethrowers. 

Me: Well…actually, it’s about a 14-yr-old boy.

Bob: …

Me: Yeah

Bob: I assume he’s some kind of phenom? A Griffey-esque prodigy who the suits at MLB won’t let play, due to some kind of rules against taking kids too early- a policy, by the way, about which I’ve been meaning to complain to Management, that we don’t have here. 

Me: Nope. Just a kid whose dad wants him in the locker room all the time. It’s sort of tearing the team apart. It’s all anyone can talk about. So yeah, big news. Big, big news.

Bob: …

Me: …

Bob: I gotta go. I’m having dinner with Groucho. 

Me: Oh, tell him I said hi!

Bob: Nope.

Fin