Brighteyes
Super Bowl!
The Right to Complain
By Jo Sparkes
Years ago, when I first began a job out of college, I found everyone around me complaining about our boss. He wasn’t smart, he didn’t understand. He had no concept of the business. He liked the Yankees.
The list was long and oft repeated.
One day in the lunchroom as the others moaned, I joined in. To be part of the gang, I suppose.
“He’s stupid,” I spoke up. And the others looked at me.
“Sweetie,” said the Old Guy, the one that had been around for years and years. “You haven’t earned the right to complain.”
It took me a long time to understand that.
We made it only once to training camp, Ian and George and I. Ian’s my husband, George is the dog. And we all love Flagstaff, as it means football and cooler temperatures and belly rubs. Respectively.
In selecting gear Ian held up Anquan and Leinart jerseys. The choice suddenly seemed very political. I made a mental note to get him an Adrian Wilson one – something tells me that could be a very hot item this year.
There were some complaints at camp. Not from the players or coaches, mind, but from a few spectators. The drills weren’t hard enough; the drills were too hard. There wasn’t enough contact; there was too much.
For me, the training was just right.
Which was important, as I was going to miss the first preseason game. I don’t like to miss games, even the preseason ones. I’m a crucial cog in the great wheel, you understand. I don’t just cheer; I am an Olympic medalist in cheering. I keep the fans around me screaming their heads off and on their feet for a great play. I shout my valuable advice to Coach Whisenhunt and yell when the bad guys are trying to make a down. I keep the less-savvy fans quiet when our offense audibles. I let the refs know when they’ve erred.
Preseason victories may not count, but I need the time to warm up, to mesh with the team. I have to get my vocal cords in shape and develop my stadium voice.
I have to keep opposing fans in their place.
But a dear friend was in the semi-finals of ‘Idol in the Skye’, a singing competition on the same night. He needed me -- needed my honed cheering expertise, my talent for inciting the crowd and heckling the judges.
Ian, bless his heart, insisted on coming with me. He felt he owed it to our friend.
“To cheer him on,” I smiled warmly.
“To see you don’t get banned from the building,” he replied. Ian worries too much.
So we gave our tickets to Joe, a great Cardinals fan we met years ago at Sun Devil. Joe was no longer able to go to games due to his work.
When we sat down at our table, I looked at my husband to gauge his mood. He was, after all, missing football. That’s pretty hard on any guy.
“You okay?” I whispered softly.
He looked up and smiled, a warm glint in his eyes. “I’m great,” he beamed. Then he showed me his cell phone. Joe had texted him the halftime score, and the Cards were ahead.
It was a beautiful evening. Our friend was brilliant, and would have won if Ian hadn’t stopped me from heckling another contestant. Word was the Cardinals looked good in the first half, which is all that counts in preseason. And we had the game on TiVo.
Everything was great until we watched the game.
I didn’t expect the offensive diatribes. I don’t mean offensive as in offensive football, I mean as in Tony Kornheiser.
Watching my team, perhaps the best team the Cardinals have put on the field in two decades, this professional commentator bounced from Brett Favre observations – not one of which hadn’t been said before – to venomous Cardinals non sequiturs. Without even the usual cloaking in humor or snide remarks.
He was complaining bitterly.
And after every comment, I could hear that Old Guy from my first job saying, “You haven’t earned the right to complain.”
I pondered this as I gave Tony the finger.
On the Cardinals message board there are some like me, who believe vehemently our team will do great. If there’s any mathematical chance they can make the playoffs, we’re convinced they’ll win the Super Bowl. And when they’re finally eliminated, we just know next year they’ll go all the way.
There are those on the message board who see doom and gloom, convinced that even when our team is winning, something will happen to screw it up. And there are a vast majority of folks somewhere in the middle.
But we’ve all paid our dues.
We’ve all sat through grueling seasons, heartbreaking losses, coaching meltdowns. We were there every second for the miraculous comeback in 2003, when our Cards scored twice in 40 seconds to knock the mighty Vikings out of the playoffs.
We were there in 2006 to watch a beautiful 20-point lead melt away in a Monday night game against the Bears.
You see we’ve PAID our dues. Optimist and pessimist, we’ve earned the right to complain. Even when the local press is far too harsh to my own mind in ripping the Cardinals, I have to admit they have earned the right to do so.
Mr. Kornheiser has not.
Perhaps it’s like a parent, who complains about his kid himself but won’t tolerate anyone else doing so. Perhaps it’s because if you suffer yourself we can all sympathize, but to merely echo someone else’s rant somehow lacks soul.
But whatever the reason is, you really do have to earn the right to complain. Thank you, Mr. Kornheiser, for teaching me that.
Now shut up.
For everyone out there who’s earned the right, here’s wishing you the best season ever. I suggest coming to the stadium, where you’ll hear the likes of me.
And if you can’t go to the stadium, remember that marvelous invention of modern technology, located on the all-powerful remote.
It’s called MUTE.
By Jo Sparkes
Years ago, when I first began a job out of college, I found everyone around me complaining about our boss. He wasn’t smart, he didn’t understand. He had no concept of the business. He liked the Yankees.
The list was long and oft repeated.
One day in the lunchroom as the others moaned, I joined in. To be part of the gang, I suppose.
“He’s stupid,” I spoke up. And the others looked at me.
“Sweetie,” said the Old Guy, the one that had been around for years and years. “You haven’t earned the right to complain.”
It took me a long time to understand that.
We made it only once to training camp, Ian and George and I. Ian’s my husband, George is the dog. And we all love Flagstaff, as it means football and cooler temperatures and belly rubs. Respectively.
In selecting gear Ian held up Anquan and Leinart jerseys. The choice suddenly seemed very political. I made a mental note to get him an Adrian Wilson one – something tells me that could be a very hot item this year.
There were some complaints at camp. Not from the players or coaches, mind, but from a few spectators. The drills weren’t hard enough; the drills were too hard. There wasn’t enough contact; there was too much.
For me, the training was just right.
Which was important, as I was going to miss the first preseason game. I don’t like to miss games, even the preseason ones. I’m a crucial cog in the great wheel, you understand. I don’t just cheer; I am an Olympic medalist in cheering. I keep the fans around me screaming their heads off and on their feet for a great play. I shout my valuable advice to Coach Whisenhunt and yell when the bad guys are trying to make a down. I keep the less-savvy fans quiet when our offense audibles. I let the refs know when they’ve erred.
Preseason victories may not count, but I need the time to warm up, to mesh with the team. I have to get my vocal cords in shape and develop my stadium voice.
I have to keep opposing fans in their place.
But a dear friend was in the semi-finals of ‘Idol in the Skye’, a singing competition on the same night. He needed me -- needed my honed cheering expertise, my talent for inciting the crowd and heckling the judges.
Ian, bless his heart, insisted on coming with me. He felt he owed it to our friend.
“To cheer him on,” I smiled warmly.
“To see you don’t get banned from the building,” he replied. Ian worries too much.
So we gave our tickets to Joe, a great Cardinals fan we met years ago at Sun Devil. Joe was no longer able to go to games due to his work.
When we sat down at our table, I looked at my husband to gauge his mood. He was, after all, missing football. That’s pretty hard on any guy.
“You okay?” I whispered softly.
He looked up and smiled, a warm glint in his eyes. “I’m great,” he beamed. Then he showed me his cell phone. Joe had texted him the halftime score, and the Cards were ahead.
It was a beautiful evening. Our friend was brilliant, and would have won if Ian hadn’t stopped me from heckling another contestant. Word was the Cardinals looked good in the first half, which is all that counts in preseason. And we had the game on TiVo.
Everything was great until we watched the game.
I didn’t expect the offensive diatribes. I don’t mean offensive as in offensive football, I mean as in Tony Kornheiser.
Watching my team, perhaps the best team the Cardinals have put on the field in two decades, this professional commentator bounced from Brett Favre observations – not one of which hadn’t been said before – to venomous Cardinals non sequiturs. Without even the usual cloaking in humor or snide remarks.
He was complaining bitterly.
And after every comment, I could hear that Old Guy from my first job saying, “You haven’t earned the right to complain.”
I pondered this as I gave Tony the finger.
On the Cardinals message board there are some like me, who believe vehemently our team will do great. If there’s any mathematical chance they can make the playoffs, we’re convinced they’ll win the Super Bowl. And when they’re finally eliminated, we just know next year they’ll go all the way.
There are those on the message board who see doom and gloom, convinced that even when our team is winning, something will happen to screw it up. And there are a vast majority of folks somewhere in the middle.
But we’ve all paid our dues.
We’ve all sat through grueling seasons, heartbreaking losses, coaching meltdowns. We were there every second for the miraculous comeback in 2003, when our Cards scored twice in 40 seconds to knock the mighty Vikings out of the playoffs.
We were there in 2006 to watch a beautiful 20-point lead melt away in a Monday night game against the Bears.
You see we’ve PAID our dues. Optimist and pessimist, we’ve earned the right to complain. Even when the local press is far too harsh to my own mind in ripping the Cardinals, I have to admit they have earned the right to do so.
Mr. Kornheiser has not.
Perhaps it’s like a parent, who complains about his kid himself but won’t tolerate anyone else doing so. Perhaps it’s because if you suffer yourself we can all sympathize, but to merely echo someone else’s rant somehow lacks soul.
But whatever the reason is, you really do have to earn the right to complain. Thank you, Mr. Kornheiser, for teaching me that.
Now shut up.
For everyone out there who’s earned the right, here’s wishing you the best season ever. I suggest coming to the stadium, where you’ll hear the likes of me.
And if you can’t go to the stadium, remember that marvelous invention of modern technology, located on the all-powerful remote.
It’s called MUTE.
Last edited:
Awesome. My "pumped up" level was on 10, now it on 11 thanks to you!
