Sports have the ability to have an effect on a lot of things.
They can bring people together or tear them apart. They can give a city hope or send that same city into a state of depression.
I was hoping to be able to write a more uplifting, lighthearted and inspirational column this week — but things didn’t play out that way.
Instead, I’ll explain why being a true die-hard fan of a team is the both the greatest and the worst thing in the world of sports.
But first, a little background.
I grew up in a sports household. My brother, 12 years older than me, played baseball. My father was a former football and baseball player and coached my brother for a few years.
I, being the rebel I am, decided I would do the opposite. Yes, I played sports when I was younger — mainly baseball and soccer — but I often spent more time wondering what the post-game meal would be rather than concerning myself with whether my team won.
And when it came sports I didn’t play, I could not care less.
Growing up in Atlanta, my whole family was fans of the Atlanta pro teams, especially the Braves and the Falcons.
Even though I didn’t care that much then, when the Braves won it all in 1995, my 8-year-old self jumped up and down with the rest of my family, but I couldn’t truly appreciate what would become the only championship in Atlanta sports history to this day.
I can honestly say I truly began to be a sports fan three years later, when a guy named Gary Anderson missed a field goal, a guy name Terance Mathis made a touchdown catch, and a guy named Morten Andersen made a field goal.
It was Jan. 17, 1999, and the Atlanta Falcons were going to the Super Bowl.
I’ll spare you the details of the game (feel free to look it up), but needless to say, it was one of my proudest memories and one of my first as a true fan.
My dad is one of the biggest Falcons fans I know. He went to the first exhibition game in 1966, at Fulton County Stadium, which the birds shared with the Braves, way before the Georgia Dome, the Falcons current home, was built.
The Falcons were bad for the majority of the years between that game, my birth and my evolvement into a sports fan.
There was a time I actually thought the Falcons were not allowed to be broadcast on TV, because they were never on it. My dad would listen to them every Sunday on the radio — where I thought they had an exclusive contract, not realizing that people had to actually go and watch a team play for them to air the game on television.
Obviously, that 1998-99 season was a big one for my dad, my brother and even my mom. But it meant more for me. Sharing that experience opened my eyes to the great and terrible life of being a true sports fan.
The Falcons would be blown out by John Elway — playing in his last game — and the Denver Broncos in that Super Bowl, but it didn’t matter. That shred of hope was planted in me that day.
Every year since has been filled with hope. Hope, sandwiched between a lot of pessimism. Hope was at an all-time high this year. The Falcons won 13 games in the regular season and finally got over the hump and won a playoff game in the Mike Smith and Matt Ryan era.
Then, Sunday came, and the Falcons fell to the 49ers, one of their first NFL rivals, in the first NFC Championship played at the Georgia Dome.
I credit the Falcons as the reason I love sports to this day. You could even say they are the reason I do what I do for a living.
The way this season ended was hard pill to swallow, but I woke up Monday morning still a Falcons fan.
That’s something that will never change. Sadly, winning a Super Bowl may not, either.