The Receding Redeeming Social Value of Sports

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“What is the redeeming social value of sports? I didn’t know it had any,” said my friend Angela. Many people, like Angela, see sport as an activity devoid of significance. A trivial pursuit. When one young man I know told his mother that he had made the U.S. Olympic team, all she said was: “What, you’re still playing ball?”

Nevertheless, sport does have social value.

It can serve to create a positive identity in a mass society. “The team” can deliver what the hunting-gathering band once did, and what we humans still need: a sense of belonging. That’s important, especially in a society that leaves many people feeling lost and lonely.

Sports can also provide strong emotions, both positive and negative, for people whose lives are otherwise flat, bland, and boring. Belonging to a team can give people who feel unimportant and disregarded a sense of being valuable and valued. It can give a city a more important place on the map and a certain cachet, which can, in turn, boost the self-esteem of its inhabitants. The hunger for this sense of identity and belonging, illusory as it might be, is evident from the huge sales of “official” team sportswear. “I am,” says the sweatshirt, “the player whose name and number are here displayed.”

Another source of social value is the ability of sports to create bonds between children and parents—especially fathers and sons. “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” could be the anthem of many father-son relationships in the USA. The fanbase of baseball is largely made up of boys who were introduced to the game by their fathers.

Why the value of sports may be deteriorating:

However, the ability of sports to generate positive individual identity, local pride, and inter-generational ties is being steadily eroded. The dance of franchises from city to city is one culprit. The city that loses a team will be resentful; Seattle is still smarting from the departure of the Sonics for Oklahoma City. The town that gains a team might exult for a while, but who knows how long it will be before that team makes a move. Eventually, many cities discover the fragility of their inclusion.

Moving players from team to team can have a similar effect. A fan-favorite can be traded away in an instant or go to another team as a free agent, leaving broken hearts and cynicism behind. Cleveland fans were desolated when Lebron James left for Miami; Boston fans couldn’t believe that Mookie Betts chose to play for the Dodgers in L.A.

Today’s outrageous salaries are more likely to inspire resentment than adoration or respect. It’s hard to identify with multi-millionaires, even if they do hit over .300. The decision to pay college athletes, which is following the professionalization of the Olympics, tennis, and other major sports, will just amplify the trend.

And then there are what might be called the Fearsome Fathers, pacing the sidelines, haranguing their kids with untimely advice and criticism born of disappointment. The shortstop on a college team close to our hearts displayed great athletic talent during practice but couldn’t throw out a three-toed pygmy sloth in a game—if his father was watching. We doubt that this particular player will have warm thoughts about baseball’s role in the family if he ever decides to have kids.

There’s a common explanation for the destructive behavior of many of these rabid super-fans. They are hung up on their own sense of failure. For whatever reason, they don’t see themselves as winners. They desperately want to experience winning through the success of their offspring.

So, little by little, the value of the team as a substitute for the band has been receding. Sports has been swept into the whirlwind of economic life. Finding belonging or refuge in it has become harder and harder.