Existential Fandomonium

Let's face it, rooting for our favorite sports teams is not akin to something as extreme as, say, rooting for our country in a war. We want our country's military to fare well for reasons of actual survival and security, at whatever expense, be it national debt repayment(virtual or real), public opinion from without, or heaven forbid, a change in borders. [let's not address a flag change at this time] Being a diehard, win or die, fan of a given sports team doesn't come with these caveats. Nevertheless, people will still wear their team badge & their country's honor on the same sleeve. Not good. One is very real. The other, completely artificial.
I'm guilty of this at times, all year. My love for the Boston Celtics feels real about six months of every year. Their record number of NBA titles (many over the rival Lakers) and the feel good storied history of this great organization becomes very embraceable (first black-american drafted; first black-american coach; supplemental draft and paying of contract to Landon Turner, a college great who was crippled in a car accident during his senior year; or the paying of a rookie salary to the family of Lenny Bias, who died tragically the day after getting drafted #1 by the Celts). Green and white glory seems never far away... Loyalty to Cardinal Nation comes seemingly natural, almost organic, when I bask in their glory of being the Yankees of the National League, a proud member of this great nation's national pastime (again artificial & downright incorrect if one considers attendance, revenues & TV market share). Plus we've got, I believe, the greatest player in history on our current roster, Albert Pujols. In fact, my Card love sanctions my Cubbie hate, and that is plainly wrong-o jock-o (theories of how raising a child as a Cub fan constitutes child abuse, notwithstanding). My L.A., er, St Louis Rams, well ... we did win a Super Bowl with Kurt Warner, and he is one of the bestest(sic) people on the planet.
When it comes down to it though, all this amounts to is a gathering of stories and snippets that tenuously meld together a base for wanting. I could take my major 'rivals', the Cubs, the Lakers, the 'Niners, etc. and develop fantastic backstories and very palpable reasons to back their plight. Who can deny the inspirational play of Jerry West, Jerry Rice, or Ryne Sandberg, ad ugh nausea? I could have myself gushing tears of understanding in presenting a case for being a fan of any team out there. In any sport. Take me to a sports bar, or dive, and I'll prove it. Please.
I'm trying real hard, in fact, to find justification for throwing my backing to the San Jose Earthquakes. I really do want, at least the part of me that's willing to lie to itself, to have a semi, local team to root for. And I really have convinced myself that I love this game, an exercise that has given me so much participatory joy over a lifetime. Though I must ultimately admit that this too is illusionary. Plus, their on field performance doesn't make it easy.
In a similar vein, I can't conjure up a diehard attitude even for the U.S. national team, which represents my beloved U.S of A in South Africa this summer. Why? Existentialism, man. Can you believe it? My country's own team. We've got Howard at 'keeper and Davies. We've got Altidore, Landon freakin' Donovan and Carlos. We've got the Red, White & Blue baby! And yet, at the end of the day I can't help myself. My heart, my gut, and the chianti-in-a-basket riddled part of my brain, is 100% behind the Arruzzi. That's right, team Italia. Buffon, Cannavaro, Grosso, Pirlo, Zambrotta...
Oh, if only soccer was war...