The Value of Losers

When did we decide that winning was the only thing that mattered? The Super Bowl is next week, and even though the winner will be declared the greatest team to ever play football (this year) I’m pretty sure the fans from both teams are happy enough that they’re even in the big game. In fact, I’m pretty sure some teams were excited to make the playoffs (Chiefs, Seahawks, Bears,) and I’m also sure that there were plenty that were ecstatic with how this season went even if they didn’t make them (Rams.) But we won’t hear about these teams and players because they “fell short.” Fell short of what? For a team to win a Super Bowl, everything has to be perfect. They have to avoid or overcome injuries to key players, everyone has to be exceptional at their job when they’re required to, they have to be in the exact spot at the right moment, not too late not too early, and the refs have to make calls in their favor. It’s a Herculean and almost impossible task. There are thirty two teams in the National Football League, sixteen in each conference, and only six make the playoffs. That means that over 62% of the League doesn’t make the post season. It means that a team only has a little greater than 3% chance of winning everything. Winning a championship is as much about luck as it is about skill because in any sport, success and failure are only a torn ACL away from each other.

This is why I think we need to step back a bit here as fans. Dallas fans, for instance, I think are screwed every year. Regardless of what the team actually looks like, there are mounds of pressure heaped on the Cowboys every year, even though the last time they won more than one game in the playoffs was over a decade ago. Their expectations are so astronomical that making the second round of the playoffs, an achievement many teams would kill for, is a letdown for Jerry’s Boys. I can’t believe that the only measure of success in a game of inches and teamwork is by rings. Trent Dilfer has more rings than Dan Marino. Kevin Faulk has more rings than Barry Sanders. I wouldn’t take Trent Dilfer over Dan Marino or Kevin Faulk over Barry Sanders NOW. No one’s ever going to say that Dilfer was better than Marino or Faulk was better than Sanders because it’s simply not true. Dilfer’s ring was incidental. Faulk was an important cog in a bigger machine. While both did their jobs, that doesn’t mean that they were the reasons behind the wins. This is the same fallacy people often bring up in the Peyton Manning vs. Tom Brady discussion. But what people forget is that, despite his three rings to Manning’s one, Brady has never played and won with a subpar defense or without a coach widely considered to be a genius. Marino never played with Ronnie Lott or with Emmitt Smith. Team success is not a fair measurement of individual achievement.

This is the same in the NBA. The best team in the last decade for my money didn’t win a championship. The 2004-2005 Phoenix Suns boasted Steve Nash, Amar’e Stoudemire, Shawn Marion, Joe Johnson, and Quentin Richardson, and were coached by Mike D’Antoni. Nash won the Most Valuable Player award and D’Antoni won the coach of the year award, and the team helped reinvent basketball. D’Antoni instituted the seven seconds or less rule, and the Suns flourished. And yet, the team went out in the Western Conference Finals. No team before or since has had the same kind of impact without winning a championship. They are, I think, the ancestor for teams like the Golden State Warriors, Minnesota Timberwolves, and the Los Angeles Clippers who are entertaining despite the lack of wins. They’ve brought fun back to the game despite the sport and they’re probably never going to make the Finals.

Sports are entertainment, but they are also a form of expression. Games are a display of humanity. Seeing a group of men come together for one reason is not only entertaining, it’s inspiring, whether they win or not. You play together or you die alone, and sometimes, even when you play together you lose. The wins and losses aren’t what matter though. The past two years, the best games I’ve seen from the NFL had only one playoff team (Browns vs. Lions two years ago, Packers vs. Steelers last year.) It comes down to the same thing we’ve heard since we read the Odyssey in high school: the destination isn’t as important as the journey. Why can’t we enjoy the ride any more?