During last Tuesday night’s warm-ups, the Brooklyn Nets wore neon T-shirts honoring the man they knew as Jeffrey Gamblero. His dancing, explosive enthusiasm and eclectic outfits had made him something of an unofficial Nets mascot, and an air of sadness had settled on the team after his death a few days before. Gamblero had been a member of that strangest of tribes, the Superfans. Men and women who, while supporting the famous, become famous themselves. Gamblero had become intertwined with the Nets to such an extent that he was part of their identity. And what troubled many was whether his devotion to the team contributed to his death. (...)
The hipster-like aspect of the Gamblero persona included the fact that he appeared to be ironically taking his cues from the classic Superfan archetype, a character that pops up in sporting events all over. The Superfan usually wears “look at me” outfits (wigs, body paint, and outrageous clothes all in team colors) while engaging in ridiculous behavior. There’s even a classic Simpsons episode about the phenomenon, where Homer Simpson briefly finds his true calling as “Dancin’ Homer.”
They’re not universally beloved figures, Superfans, even among their fellow supporters. To some, they’re entertaining distractions. To others, they’re annoying, deserving objects of outright scorn for making the rest of us look bad.
The anger is understandable. The Superfan, after all, is the stereotypical example of one’s fandom, a figure few want to identify with: the shirtless guy wearing body paint in subzero temperatures; the overzealous screaming buffoon; the sports talk radio regular ranting about how “we” are going to run the table and win the championship every season, year after year, until the heat death of the universe, etc.
The truth is that being a fan often requires an unstable combination of ridiculousness and lack of self-consciousness. To be a fan is to be irrational, to act in ways that are unacceptable in other contexts or that completely contradict our everyday selves. Self-conscious types who never dance will boogie victoriously while their team is blowing out rivals. Stoic men’s men who never cry will blubber like babies when their team win a championship.
When we do all of this we usually look stupid. Maybe there’s a cultural need for the Superfan. The Superfan distracts attention, not to mention the camera, away from us and our often regrettable behavior during sporting events. We can look at the Superfan and say “hey at least we’re not that bad.” (...)
Superfans like Clipper Darrell and the New York Jets’ Fireman Ed (who retired his persona as the team’s struggles took their toll on him) though, are mostly regional figures and usually not the most recognizable of their ilk. Maybe the most famous examples of Superfans aren’t anything of the sort. They are celebrity fans mostly in the sense that they are fans of the idea of celebrity, and they target sporting events because they’re among the best places to be seen.
While the two types share a desire for reinvention and attention, this second type is a more disruptive figure whose desire for fame doesn’t come under the cover of “I’m just a passionate fan.” Through the 70s and 80s being a faux-Superfan, a celebrity spectator really, was mostly a way to become a reality TV star back before reality TV existed. They were the pioneers of the photobomb.
The hipster-like aspect of the Gamblero persona included the fact that he appeared to be ironically taking his cues from the classic Superfan archetype, a character that pops up in sporting events all over. The Superfan usually wears “look at me” outfits (wigs, body paint, and outrageous clothes all in team colors) while engaging in ridiculous behavior. There’s even a classic Simpsons episode about the phenomenon, where Homer Simpson briefly finds his true calling as “Dancin’ Homer.”They’re not universally beloved figures, Superfans, even among their fellow supporters. To some, they’re entertaining distractions. To others, they’re annoying, deserving objects of outright scorn for making the rest of us look bad.
The anger is understandable. The Superfan, after all, is the stereotypical example of one’s fandom, a figure few want to identify with: the shirtless guy wearing body paint in subzero temperatures; the overzealous screaming buffoon; the sports talk radio regular ranting about how “we” are going to run the table and win the championship every season, year after year, until the heat death of the universe, etc.
The truth is that being a fan often requires an unstable combination of ridiculousness and lack of self-consciousness. To be a fan is to be irrational, to act in ways that are unacceptable in other contexts or that completely contradict our everyday selves. Self-conscious types who never dance will boogie victoriously while their team is blowing out rivals. Stoic men’s men who never cry will blubber like babies when their team win a championship.
When we do all of this we usually look stupid. Maybe there’s a cultural need for the Superfan. The Superfan distracts attention, not to mention the camera, away from us and our often regrettable behavior during sporting events. We can look at the Superfan and say “hey at least we’re not that bad.” (...)
Superfans like Clipper Darrell and the New York Jets’ Fireman Ed (who retired his persona as the team’s struggles took their toll on him) though, are mostly regional figures and usually not the most recognizable of their ilk. Maybe the most famous examples of Superfans aren’t anything of the sort. They are celebrity fans mostly in the sense that they are fans of the idea of celebrity, and they target sporting events because they’re among the best places to be seen.
While the two types share a desire for reinvention and attention, this second type is a more disruptive figure whose desire for fame doesn’t come under the cover of “I’m just a passionate fan.” Through the 70s and 80s being a faux-Superfan, a celebrity spectator really, was mostly a way to become a reality TV star back before reality TV existed. They were the pioneers of the photobomb.
by Hunter Felt, The Guardian | Read more:
Image: Forbes
