It’s 2014 and mid-October in Manchester, the sun has fallen, the air is brisk and dry, and those inside Old Trafford have turned their gaze to the Stretford End.
Manchester United have trailed Chelsea since the 53rd minute, a headed effort from Didier Drogba giving the Blues the lead. Now deep into injury time, Angel Di Maria stands ominously over a free-kick on the edge of the Chelsea box.
As bums leave seats, the chairs clatter as they flip-upright into their original position. The tension is tangible, the expectation palpable.
Sitting beside me is the burliest Mancunian man you have ever seen. As emotions reach fever-pitch for those inside the stadium, he stands to attention, as if already knowing what’s about to unfold. Earlier in the game he lamented, (in more colourful language) how he’d been having the most unpleasant week and a loss now to Chelsea might prove too much for him.
Di Maria whips the ball into the Chelsea box and silence descends upon the ground, only for the volume to return to 100 as Marouane Fellaini’s header is parried by Thibaut Courtois and into the path of Robin van Persie, who sweeps the ball into the back of the Chelsea net.
The goal is met with a cataclysmic roar of jubilation from the United faithful. I get lost among the flailing arms and bobbing heads, as men, women and children embrace with: hugs, high-fives and fists are thrust into the night sky. People from all ages and walks of life are one in that moment and unified in unadulterated joy.
We filter out of the stadium, adrenalin thundering through our veins, strangers nod and smile, while the chant of how “Man United will never die” bellows out from underneath the stadium.
While the memory of that moment fades as time passes, the positive feeling it brought does not. I often day-dream about that large Mancunian man and the happiness that football match brought him, but I also wonder, why? Why did that miniscule moment in time bring about such a cathartic release of joy for him and for all the fans wearing red that day?
Why do we as football fans derive such pleasure from watching our team perform?
The easiest way to try answer this question is to look at myself. In my mind I return to 2008. This period and time in my life wasn’t great for me. I was a little lost and lacking some direction in life, something we all feel at times in our lives. I was stuck in momentary rut, but it was a rut I would eventually dig myself out of, with my own shovel and some helping hands.
During this period, I felt I had very little, but luckily, I had Manchester United. Like a beam of shining light in my life, it shone for 90 minutes, in what was an otherwise pretty dull and boring place.
Following this team gave me something to look forward to, a sense of belonging and an escape from the mundane banality of life. In life, I felt like I was losing, but watching United, I felt like I was winning.
The act of putting on a jersey on a match-day was a transformative ritual. Instead of feeling sluggish tired and bored, I was enthused, energised and excited. When I had my colours on I was part of something, something bigger than just me.
When it came time to watch a game, I now had a place I could channel my emotion, with the ability to scream, shout, cheer and laugh. All the pent up frustration and angst was being let out. Like the release of steam from a pressure cooker, win or lose, I felt a sense of mental and physical release. In hindsight, being a fan was having a positive effect on my social and mental health.
According to psychology professor, Daniel Wann of Murray State University and author of, Sports Fans: The Psychology and Social Impact of Spectators. He has conducted studies which show that an intense interest in a team is linked to higher levels of well-being.
“What fandom allows you to do is to gain those connections, which then in turn provides you with social and psychological health.” – says Wann in this Huffington Post article, entitled How being a sports fan makes you happier and healthier.
The link between sport and mental well-being has been researched extensively, but only in the last decade have psychologists begun to turn their attentions to the positive effects spectators derive from having a love affair with their team.
Wann’s research has found that even when fans aren’t actively watching their team play, their mental health is benefitting.
“They have this enduring level of connections to others, and lower levels of loneliness and alienation, whether or not they’re watching the game.” That large Mancunian man who chatted with and embraced the strangers around him prior to kick-off, would seem to back up Wann’s theory.
Mann is seemingly leading the charge in the psychology of fandom, but others too are delving into what is a relatively new field of study. Speaking on the topic in 2010, Psychology professor Robert F. Levant of the University of Akron said – “Identifying with your sports teams is one of the ways you can vicariously experience success, and in real life, success is hard,”
This by-proxy feeling of success Levant is talking about has its own term and it’s called, basking in reflected glory or BIRGing for short. BIRGing is a self-serving cognition where a person associates themselves with successful people, groups or teams and we see it all the time in everyday life and in fandom.
For football fans, BERGing can be seen after a team’s victory, when fans initiate conversation about their teams win or when they wear their team’s jersey for the whole weekend after they pick up that W.
Even with all the aforementioned technical jargon and theory, football fans simply put, are a passionate and loyal collective of human beings. Whether it’s in the stadium, down the local pub or on the couch at home, football fans have an innate drive and desire to band together and share the happiness of the greatest victories and the despair of painful loses.
So, they next time someone questions the amount of time and effort you spend supporting, watching and shouting for your team, sit them down and enlighten them, as to why being a football is a healthy obsession.
Migeycan 