The Impressions That I Get

One of the first thoughts I had about The OffSeason was related to the number of times in a given day that I am exposed to logos of the various Boston Sports teams. As a fan, I never really noticed or thought about it that much. Sure, I would get a bit self conscious if someone was wearing the same hat as me in the elevator, but that was about it. My guess is that non-fans too hardly notice it when someone walks by in a Red Sox hat or a Bruins sweatshirt. But as a person working hard to avoid being reminded of the exploits of local teams, logos tend to stand out as bright beacons of temptation. So, I wondered, how often am I seeing images that reinforce allegiance to Boston teams?

I certainly didn't think it would be hard to start paying closer attention to Boston logos. I'm a bit ashamed to admit that seeing people walking around The Hub in Yankees hats, or attire from any of the major Boston rivals for that matter, used to instantly raise my attention and ire. I felt it was somehow disrespectful and I was confident that the disrespect was intentional. In my twisted imagination, the person in question was trying to send a specific message to Boston fans, saying "I don't like you." Of course, this is patently absurd. People have a right to support whatever team they care to for whatever reason they choose. At times in my life I have worn the red B of the Red Sox in other cities just to feel closer to friends that were far away. It took me a while to realize that others might be doing the same kind of thing. A choice for something is not automatically a choice against something else, even when there is a rivalry involved.

So, I decided it would be fun to walk around with one of those audience head-count devices (thanks, Craig!) in my pocket. Every time I saw a local team logo, I would click the clicker and see where I was at the end of the day. After a week or so, I could average out the daily numbers and get a general sense of how often boston sports teams are promoted to the general public by the general public. The plan seemed simple enough. What surprised me was how hard it was at first to consciously acknowledge the logos, which were once simply part of the fabric of the city. It was also hard not to actively look for the logos and wait for them to simply be in my field of vision. I quickly realized that there had to be a few rules out in place to make this experiment really work. The rules were as follows:

• Logos to be counted would be from the four major pro sports teams in Boston (The Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics and Patriots) only.

• If a logo from the same source crossed my plain of vision twice, even in quick succession, it counted twice. After all, this is about impressions, not examples.

• If a person was wearing more than one thing (a hat AND jersey, for instance) that counts twice. Again, impressions.

• Partial viewing would not count unless it was utterly identifiable as a team logo. 

• Knock off logos would also not count, assuming I could tell they were as such.

In the four days I have spent tallying, I've seen 75, 68, 22, & 64 logos for an average of 57.25 impressions a day. That doesn't seem like a very large number until you start adjusting for the amount of time these impressions are packed in to. It should be noted that I don't get to see or hear too many commercials due to the way I take in media, so these hits all come from seeing people on the street, or stickers on cars and trucks, or ads in the city. I'm out of the house generally only from 8am through about 6pm on a normal day, so we're talking about 10 hours. That already brings us to about 10 logos an hour. These days I'm not looking at espn or other sports related websites, so I don't see many logos online while I am at work. That cuts out 7.5 hours a day at least, which leaves us with 2.5 hours. Now I'm up to 22.9 impressions an hour, or one every 2 and a half minutes. I'm just an amateur sociologist here, but I have to imagine that anything someone is exposed to every 2.5 minutes is going to exert some sort of influence on that person.

As it happens, my line of thinking on this subject dovetails nicely into a recent episode of my favorite podcast, 99% Invisible. On the show, they make the point that sports teams are the only entity that people will maintain their allegiance to even if the quality of the product goes down. Certainly the fair weather fans fall away, but the Celtics still have a strong following in this city even though just last year they were a title contender, and this year they missed the playoffs (I gather). But, if your favorite granola bar suddenly came with mashed up fish parts in it, you wouldn't keep buying it just because it was still called Caramel Cocoanut Fudge. It's a curious mixture of brand loyalty and tribalism, with a healthy dose of scratch ticket addiction thrown in. After all, you never know when things will turn around. You can't win if you don't watch.

None of this is to say that sports should not be enjoyed. I just think that, like everything else that affects society at large, we should try our best to be aware of the forces at work on us, and stay in control. If there's one thing The OffSeason has taught me so far it's that the teams will win or lose even if you don't watch.

Boylston St. Memoirs

Every few years, the Boston Marathon falls on my birthday. The race gets a lot of attention nationwide, but people may not realize that in Massachusetts we have an odd little holiday on the day the Marathon is held. Patriots Day celebrates the battles of Lexington and Concord in 1775, which mark the beginning of the revolutionary war. Schools have no classes, and some businesses get the day off. As for me, though I have never run the course, just about every year since I got to town I have found myself on Boylston St. for one reason or another. As we reflect on the tough memories of last year's event, I thought I'd relay some of my fonder memories over the years.

1994: My real introduction to the Marathon in my second spring in town. Though I had lived in Kenmore Sq the previous year, I had let the race pass me by more or less unaware. Thanks to my friend Seth, that would never happen again. Together with our friend Murphy, we climbed up fire escapes in the alley between Boylston and Newbury streets to join rooftop parties with a great view of the finish line. Once we got kicked out of one, or denied safe haven at the top entirely, we would move on to the next building. Seth also pointed out Dick and Rick Hoyt as they ran past us. He told me their story, which I could hardly believe at the time. In the ensuing years, their legend has only grown. It's hard to believe this will be their last year. They are the beating heart of inspiration at the center of the Boston Marathon.

1997: For the first time, the Marathon and the holiday fall on my birthday. My girlfriend and I, along with some other friends, wander around Kenmore Square sneaking swigs from some sort of makeshift flask. Despite our inebriation, we are diligent and committed to rooting on the runners as they pass through the square. We have gotten there early enough that we have a great view of the elite runners as they come down the stretch and we are not so drunk that we can't appreciate their speed and the sheer thrill of seeing them flash passed us. These are world class athletes and we are essentially in the front row. Seeing Uta Pippig, who had won the previous three years, was a real highlight. Thankfully, in 1997, her legs were perfectly clean.

1999: I am working at a restaurant in Copley Sq. The weather is unexpectedly beautiful, and because we are short staffed, I volunteer to work the patio alone. Normally, this is a two person section, even on a regular afternoon, but today we are basically the first bar on Boylston St after the finish line. We fill up fast inside, and it is a mad house in no time. Pure celebration and fun as runner after runner enters the bar. The patio is no different, and in a lunch shift, I manage to clear several hundred dollars. Highlights of the afternoon included a patron being picked up bodily by our crack bartender staff and physically removed from the premises and my emerging from the crowd holding one of the foil wraps that the runners get like Excalibur to the cheers of the patio patrons.

2005: My wife and I head down to Copley to try and find her high school friend Caroline, who is running the race and expects to do very well. We have no plans to meet, and in no time we are part of the teeming masses. The area behind the finish line is awash with spectators, and loved ones trying to reunite with runners. Movement is slow, and it's hard to get any sense for which way anyone is going. The urgent stares of those combing the crowd for their friend or family member perfectly counters the blank, contented gaze of those who have run. The street is packed with runners wrapped in foil sheets, and the sidewalks are wall to wall humanity. Somehow, though I had only met Caroline once before, I am able to spot her with an amount of effort that can be generously described as "scant" in a matter of minutes. Later, we find out that she finished 26th out of all women that year.

2013: I'm at work, my office is about a half a mile from the finish line on Boylston. There aren't many people at the office that day, and I'm planning to duck out early to meet my wife at H&R Block. We still haven't finished our taxes, but we have an appointment and should be able to get it done that evening. I'm packing my bag when a coworker pops in my doorway and alerts me to what had happened about 15 minutes earlier down the street. The college I work at goes in to lockdown, and once it is lifted, we all start to figure out how everyone will be getting home. My friend and coworker Vicki is a few months pregnant and I decide that the best way I can contribute to the city that day is to get her safely to her husband, out in Somerville where I also live. We set out together, and try station after station looking for a way to get north of town. A train and a bus later, we are in Teele Sq and Vicki is safely in her car with Rick. I walk across the Square where my wife is already working on our taxes. We got a nice check back last year, but it was hardly the best return of the day. 

FAIL

I hate to let you down, but I checked. I did it all four games in New York. In truth, I've been sort of cheating for much of the regular season. It was hard enough back when the Patriots were playing just once a week, but now here I am, keenly aware that the Sox are playing basically every single day. I thought the Olympics or the World Cup, or even the upcoming Boston Marathon might be the biggest challenge of The OffSeason, but I was clearly wrong. As it turns out, it's the very team that sent me off so happy that's proving to be the hardest thing to ignore.

In some ways it's not surprising at all. The Red Sox were the first team to teach me about the relationship this city has with sports. Growing up in the New York area on the 80's, I always felt the people of Boston were spoiled. They had the Celtics, and just about the time I was becoming sports-aware, the Red Sox were in the Series and the Patriots were in the Super Bowl. Boston even had the best show on TV back then. It seemed to me this city had it all.

Of course, once I came here for college and started to get a feel for the city, I understood that there was actually something special going on. The Sox weren't particularly good at the time, but it was still a part of daily life here. The Sox are simply a piece of the sound of this city, and I love it. Dearly.

So its time to recommit myself to the ideals of The OffSeason and stop paying attention. It's not that I have been actually watching anything, but I have been going to boston.com to see what the headlines say about the game. It stops now, but I had to come clean to you all. I hope you'll forgive this little slip up. It was Sox Yanks, after all. 

Zero Sum Games

On September 1, 1984, my parents brought me to see the Jackson 5 at JFK Stadium in Philadelphia. As far as I could tell, this was the biggest thing to have happened to anybody, ever. My parents seemed more excited than I was, and even though all I wanted to hear were the amazing songs I knew from Michael's landmark Thriller album, I kept hearing from the adults in my life that the Jacksons might do mostly some older songs that the group had apparently had some success with previously. I thought everyone was crazy to think that  with all these people coming to see them, the band wouldn't do the songs that were currently taking radio by storm.

Of course, I was quite mistaken and during the show I can still remember after each song would end, I would hold my breath and prey fiercely for the opening notes of Thriller, Wanna Be Startin' Something, PYT, or even The Girl Is Mine (that one with another guy who had apparently also done well with some older tunes). But time and again, I wouldn't recognize the next number and I would be forced to wait until it was over. It was confusing, because everyone else seemed completely delirious over each song. They couldn't get enough! JFK Stadium had become a massive gathering of joyful, celebrating people, and even if I was missing the point, I could tell it was a big day for all of us.

Come to think of it, that was also my first experience in a stadium. Since then I've seen a good mix of concerts, sporting events, and more than a few monster truck rallies in stadiums from Boston to San Diego. Outside of a few parts of the country where they do church services in stadiums, that's about all you get in those massive coliseums; Sports and pop artists. Of course, that makes a measure of sense. After all, you have to have pretty wide appeal to sell several tens of thousands of tickets. Otherwise, there are plenty of smaller, more intimate venues that make more sense to try and fill. Seeing a show in a club or theatre is always a more grounded experience. You don't have the huge crowds to fight on the way in and out, and you can really get a sense for what is happening on stage. Usually the sound is a fair bit better, too.

I bring all this up in response to a discussion I had with a great friend of mine about the "value" of following sports. When I brought up the idea that sports is a common language that brings people together and gives them something to discuss, no matter how unfamiliar they may be with each other, he countered with the idea that the arts could, and perhaps should, play that role in broader society. I said I felt it did, to some extent, and he laughed as he asked me to compare the kind of attention music, dance, theatre and fine art gets day-to-day compared with sports. I have to say, his point resonated with me. This was long before The OffSeason, and certainly was a contributing factor in developing the idea of this experiment.

It's been proven over and over to me in the last several months that the time I was spending paying attention to sports was time that I was neglecting some of what life had to offer me. We're only given so much time to play with, and it has felt good to correct that balance. More than that, I have come to recognize a larger truth as well. In a stadium full of people watching a contest, it stands to reason that about half of the people will be disappointed with the outcome. Perhaps many will feel cheated due to something their team did, or didn't do, or maybe because of a referees influence on the outcome. So that leaves room for only half of the audience going home feeling really good, at most.

Watching the Jackson 5 back in 1984, sitting among 100,000 fans, I may have been unaware of just what was going on, but no one left that stadium on that particular night feeling anything other than thrilled.