Sports Hate

The following is written by David Kamoe, a life-long sports fan whose sister is a close friend. David is an avid A's fan, wen to to high school with Drew Gooden and can't believe that Giants commentator Mike Krukow used to refer to the right-centerfield expanse at Pac Bell Park as "Finley Alley," referring to Steve Finley who remarkably wore a Giants uniform for a season. David will likely be stopping by these parts a few times a month, so treat him right. And no sister jokes.

I have always been cautious to say that I “hate” a team or a player. Hate -- I have always thought -- was the singular domain of people or things you truly despised: illegal wars, Republicans, the cast of The Hills, that kind of thing. That being said, reading a recent column by Bill Simmons, I came across the phrase “sports hate.” I felt this phrase allowed me the opportunity to properly classify all the disgusts I’ve ever had with a team, player or group of fans.

I could list out each and every one of these and I would like to think that I would go on forever, but I will try to confine it to one general area: Los Angeles. As a Bay Area native, I have had an almost inborn “sports hate” of Los Angeles. When I was five years old, I watched Kirk Gibson and the Los Angeles Dodgers beat the “Bash Brothers” and the 1988 Oakland A’s. Yes, I know that Canseco and McGwire juiced and I’m still angry. My “sports hate” lay dormant in terms of Los Angeles until the “Los Angeles California Angels of Orange County near the 55 and the 5” and the Oakland A’s became rivals starting in 2002.

My “sports hate” for the “Los Angeles California Angels of Orange County near the 55 and the 5” crystallized for me every time I watched Francisco Rodriguez pitch. I “sport hated” every gesticulation he made so much that I not only relished beating him but took to referring to him as a “petulant child.” Any A’s fan who remembers Jason Kendall racing home after Rodriguez got squeezed on a curveball on a Wednesday afternoon at the Coliseum knows what I talking about and is smiling. The other particulars are John Lackey and Darin Erstad but I’ll spare them -- for now.

I’ll end with a fresh wound: the Anaheim Ducks and their fans. I am not an old school San Jose Sharks fan. I don’t remember them coming into the league in 1991 or that they played at the Cow Palace. My early hockey knowledge starts with seeing the back of Toronto Maple Leaf enforcer Wendel Clark’s jersey with a blue “17” and the name “Clark” on the back. In the past year plus, however, I have jumped in with both feet. Watching Game 6 of the Western Conference semifinals last year only bolstered this enjoyment. This year, I watched almost every Sharks game and was fully fired up to watch the Sharks dismantle the Ducks. Instead, I watched as Ducks “fans” celebrated goals in the deciding Game 6. As I watched, I seethed with “sports hate.” I refused to believe these people were hockey fans or that they could name the “original 6.” (Toronto, Montreal, Boston, Detroit, Chicago, and the New York Rangers).

This, then is the LA sports “fan” a front-running bunch who know little to nothing about the details. BEAT LA! (And share your sports-hate, ugh, hate in the comments).