I recently did something I have never done before: I rooted for a New York sports team. This was difficult for me, but a decision I feel I had to make for my family.
Let me explain. I was born at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, a mile from Fenway Park, and lived most of my life not much farther away. But five years ago, work and life and the belated good sense not to screw things up with my girlfriend, who is now my wife, brought me to New York.
When our daughter was born two years ago, I stared in disbelief at her birth certificate. “PLACE OF BIRTH: MANHATTAN.” We had created a native New Yorker? Would she become some sort of New York snob? Grow up thinking New York pizza is superior, when in fact pizza is very good most places? Would she not innately understand in her heart that Nomar was better?
My wife is from New Hampshire and spent high school idolizing Theo Epstein. Together, we debated whether to brainwash our daughter into becoming a Boston sports fan or let her make her own path in life. We chose brainwashing. So far, the results have been satisfactory. I successfully taught her how to say “Go Celtics!” and she likes wearing her Red Sox hat. (I do have regrets, though, about putting her in a Mac Jones T-shirt last fall.) In time, she may rebel, but at least we have today.
The WNBA presents a problem, though. I’d love for my daughter to love the league — to be able to dream of becoming her sports heroes, if she’s so inclined, the way I dreamed of becoming Robert Parish and Mo Vaughn (it’s going great, thanks). But there is no Boston WNBA team. There is a Connecticut team she could root for, but as we all know, Connecticut is a disgrace. Aside from being half-filled with vile New York fans, the state’s absence of quirk, charm, and culture is an affront to everything that makes New England special. The Sun play at Mohegan Sun, and I have no desire to drive hours to a casino in the middle of Connecticut for a game when there’s a perfectly good WNBA arena within walking distance of my Brooklyn apartment.
So here I am, a New York Liberty fan. On July 16, with my wife and some friends, I went to my first game. Our daughter is still too young to go herself — this was about me taking my first steps. It would be uncomfortable, but at least the Liberty were playing the Connecticut Sun.
On the way in, I noticed that the souvenir stands sold orange hats featuring the WNBA logo, evoking the league’s now-iconic hoodies. Maybe this was my way out: I could remain simply a fan of the league, like Rob Lowe famously donning his NFL hat at an NFC Championship game. But no, the wonder of fandom is rooting for a team — being thrilled and crushed in turn. Besides, buying that hat would have required me to take off the Red Sox one I was wearing. I didn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea.
The hype video introducing the Liberty starters featured the players posing in empty subway cars. I couldn’t help but nod along to the beat, but I also rolled my eyes at New Yorkers’ continued conviction that theirs is the only city on earth with a subway system. As if sensing my skepticism, my wife turned to me and said, “I can’t wait to take our girl to these games.” Fine.
Several minutes later, our friends arrived, late because of delays on the subway.
The game opened with an 11-2 Liberty run, keyed by the magnetic Sabrina Ionescu. I “OOOOOHHH”ed at Ionescu’s unconscious shot-making, but I didn’t quite have it in me to stand and cheer with the crowd when Connecticut called a timeout to stop the bleeding. These were New York fans. Thankfully, the demographic appeared sufficiently different than what you’d find in the Yankee Stadium bleachers: I saw no mouth-agape young men with that dumb look — you know the one — stuck on their faces. Still, I suspected some of these people root for the Yankees.
After three quarters, the score was tied at 63. It had been a tense, physical affair. The Liberty were playing without injured star Breanna Stewart, but Ionescu was everywhere, stamping her will on the game. The arena was packed and seemingly all 13,694 fans were rocking (New York’s home-game attendance is up 64 percent over last season). The Liberty pulled ahead in the fourth and, as they dribbled out their 82-74 win, I finally stood and cheered.
This is the part where I am supposed to tell you that my heart was moved, that after spending an evening with the Liberty and their wonderful fans, I embraced the common bonds of our humanity.
Absolutely not. I had a nice time, but New York sports fans always have been and always will be a subhuman species of engorged subway rats impressed with themselves because they learned how to clap. But for my daughter, at least when it comes to the WNBA, I will join them.
Jason Schwartz is a writer and editor in Brooklyn. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.
