I’m hardly the only American expat in the Middle East who keeps a piece of home with him. Actually, I have a few — a stuffed puppy I’ve had since I was 3 named Coco, an unread Rick Bragg book in case I miss my small corner of Alabama and want to visit from afar, and a few comic books that smell like my hometown shop.
But the one thing that’s been the biggest remedy to any homesickness since moving here in September has been the 2014-15 Atlanta Hawks, whose season ended Tuesday in the Eastern Conference Finals. The 60-win club of four All-Stars and zero sex appeal will go down as one of my favourite teams ever, and not just because they got further than any of their predecessors.
For those who don’t grasp the perennial nervous energy attached to being a capital-A Atlanta Sports Fan, here’s a brief description: We don’t have the ubiquitous, “loveable loser” label attached to fans of the Chicago Cubs. We don’t have claim to any mystical curses the way your parents’ Red Sox fans did. And we don’t have the title-less loser streak attached to Cleveland fans. We win, but only to lose the games that matter. No one feels sorry for us.
What we root for are teams that are constantly just good enough to get your hopes up. Our Braves won fourteen straight MLB division titles, only one in which ended in a world championship (in the strike-shortened 1995 season, when no one even liked baseball). The NFL’s Falcons are often right there competing in the end, only to bottom out and have to start over the next season. We’ve had two NHL teams relocate to other cities, which I at least think is a record we can claim.
There’s no glory, no superstars and little romance. There only exists the tiniest bit of hope required to keep you hanging on until a typically bitter end.
For most of the past decade, the Hawks have been that to the NBA — good enough to be middling also-rans, never bad enough to illicit widespread change. This year felt different. Never mind the franchise-record and Eastern-leading 60 wins. This team had all the antiquated, vaguely insulting adjectives assigned to its players that the fleeting, casual fans appreciate: grit, heart, toughness ... “the right kinds” of players. I usually hate stuff like that because it makes sports seem so serious (it’s not), but a usually fickle fanbase paid attention and showered this team with love for all of those dumb reasons. Myself included.
They were also exciting. I relished waking up a little earlier the days after Hawks games so I could watch them drain three-pointers and pass with such precision and skill. I appreciated the time difference and catching up with the rest of the fans thousands of miles away, having to avoid Twitter and the Internet for Game of Thrones-like spoilers. The 19-game winning streak in January lifted my spirits through a particularly tough and work-filled stretch, when I was starting to doubt if the Middle East was for me. These Hawks routinely perked up my days. And I felt at home.
Granted, I’m a nut who rooted for the also-ran teams with boring players and all the terrible teams with nobody players that preceded this year. I’m an Atlanta-fan lifer (though the older me doesn’t have much of a stomach for baseball anymore), but even I would’ve been sceptical this was going to be such a fun NBA season. The Hawks have made the play-offs in 8 consecutive years — no small feat, but also not something many NBA fans would proudly wear on their chests. Still, never until this year was there the faintest hope of winning a title.
That hope met the iron fist of LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers, who are on to the Finals. It happened in a sweep, a little too quickly and easily — more ammo for those who needlessly pound on Atlanta fans for their loser-in-the-end teams. I couldn’t bring myself to watch those final two games and suffer the indignity of seeing a team I loved so much go out in such a way, but it doesn’t take away the fun of the months that came before. Perhaps Atlanta fans’ suffering is prolonged so that Cleveland fans’ suffering can end. I’m rooting for them, and I envy their still-lingering hope.
So the “always next year” rite of passage comes for another Atlanta sports season. Disappointing, sure. But even if the Hawks championship-calibre ways don’t extend into next year, I’ll be OK with that. They could never be this team anyway. The 2014-15 Hawks will always be the one that got me through my first few months in a whole new world, and I’ll always be grateful. It’s just a nice bonus that they were so good.
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