...and the agony of defeat

It was 11 o'clock at night and I had nothing else to do. So I flipped on ESPN. To my delight, game two of the College World Series Finals was on, and drawing to a finish. College baseball. Only slightly more intriguing to me than the WNBA, but seeing that college baseball's champion was potentially just six outs away from being crowned, I decided to stick around.

I've always loved watching the ending of major sports championships. Actually, it doesn't even have to be a major sport. Just as long as it's the final game of sport's postseason, you can find me glued to the TV. Just the other day, I watched the XFL's Super Bowl, titled the Million Dollar Game, from its first and only season back in 2001.

Of course, it's no surprise that I would love watching these types of games. They're what every athlete in his or her respective sport plays for. What might be surprising though is my favorite part of those games. To me, the most interesting part about championships isn't the dogpile that ensues after the final out, point, or when the clock hits triple zeroes. It's not the passing out of t-shirts and caps, and the spraying of champagne in the locker room. It's not even the cliche one-word headlines with oversized photos in the next day's newspaper (although I really do love those).

My favorite part is the loser.

Sadistic much? Maybe a little. There's just something about watching the team that finished second. The blank stares. The towels over heads. The tears. Nobody remembers second place, so those tears are the last we will ever see of you. My first memory of this was Kevin Dyson kneeling on the one yard line in Super Bowl XXXIV. One yard short. Ever since then I have always been willing to trade the images of celebratory mobs on the pitcher's mound or the fifty yard line for those of a heartbroken veteran who watches that final play on the jumbotron, hoping for a different ending.

Nobody remembers second place. Except of course, for the ones who were unfortunate enough to finish there. For them, it's a gut-wrenching experience that is impossible to forget. For me, it's the images of their downfall; the look of sheer defeat on their faces, that I can't- and don't want to-block from my memory.