Hallowed ground

As has been alluded in early posts, the title of this blog alludes to a saying that was heard in precincts where I was born and raised (south Georgia, remember), typically spoken about football but applicable to other sports in other parts of the country. It would serve as a response to charges that folks in those parts treated football like a religion. "Football ain't a religion," would come the response. "It's way more important than that."

The saying itself belies the degree to which many of the rituals that accrue around sports have a quasi-religious nature, and are certainly performed with a fervor that surpasses the religious devotion of many if not most of the faithful. This does in fact hold true for many sports beyond football; I'd even suggest that soccer, with its supporter groups and elaborate pre-game ceremonies, might be even closer to religious ritual in its practice. Having been a couple of different times to matches as part of a visiting supporter's group for Sporting Kansas City I noticed at least two different ways in which the experience paralleled that of attending a new church for the first time: strangers bonded quickly around a common passion, and I didn't know all the songs.

It may be that the most intriguing or disturbing manifestation of this particular devotion is in the request, or occasionally the attempt, to dispose of the remains of a devoted fan on the team's playing field.

The impetus for this reflection is this feature piece from the Washington Post, reflecting on the phenomenon as it attaches to college football fields, particularly in but not limited to the Southeastern Conference. A recent example of the phenomenon is featured in the article, in which the infamous 2013 Iron Bowl, the one in which Auburn defeated Alabama on a miracle-like final play (again with the quasi-religious stuff!). In the crush after the game an unknown fan surreptitiously deposited the cremains of another (presumed) fan on the turf, near the sideline. A tweeted picture of the discolored turf can be found in the article.

And there's the rub; cremated remains aren't particularly good for athletic turf.

College football teams as a rule have rules against such a thing, for that very reason. As a turf expert at Auburn notes, the cremains burn pretty much any plant, including that lovely green turf your athletic heroes tread upon.  Obviously this doesn't stop these particularly single-minded fans, who don't seem to mind doing damage to the field they so revere.

My preacher-mind goes a few different directions here: (1) to see such devotion directed towards a very human and very flawed (to the point of corrupt, far too often) institution (as opposed to the One we are charged to proclaim, the only One truly worthy of such devotion) only points out just how far the church has fallen, and how little impression it evidently makes upon a segment of the population that is frequently presumed to be quite religious (but then, we knew that already); (2) the author of this book probably has nightmares about this sort of thing; and (3) we've all known church members like that, the type whose seeming outward devotion masked a near-maniacal urge to control or to impose their will upon the church/program. At minimum, after all, this is a kind of trespassing and (one could argue) vandalism. Why do you want to do that to your favorite team?

This article also appeared in the local paper, with an interesting super-headline: "SEC: Where Sports and Religion Meet." Now I hate to break it to you SEC partisans, but this phenomenon hardly began with you. The aforementioned sport of soccer also has enough of an issue with this practice that English clubs actually have established guidelines for the practice (if you're a fan of Blackburn Rovers you're in luck; Chelsea, not so much), and fans of the Argentinian club Boca Juniors can actually buy burial plots in a cemetery dedicated for players and fans of the team; you can be buried among your club heroes.

In the States baseball has also inspired such acts of devotion, with Wrigley Field in Chicago a particular object of such passion. It's not hard to guess why, in a way; the team is notorious for its extended championship drought and the long-suffering fans who have waited literally all their lives for a Cubs World Series win, so you can imagine those fans wanting to "be there" when it finally happens. Not surprisingly, more than a few Cubs fans have copped to scattering remains on the warning track or somewhere else in the park, occasionally without particularly trying to be sneaky about it. At least one former player was also supposedly meant to have his cremains scattered there, and a dispute has arisen over the intention of another Cubs great to be similarly scattered there (there was a quote from him many years ago, but no official documentation of such wishes in his case).

You can probably guess I find the practice a little distressing. At least in the case of Wrigley Field, though (or most of those hallowed SEC and other gridirons), there's the logic of scattering those ashes on, well, grass or dirt. I can't quite understand the thought of one devoted fan of his local team who got somebody to dump his ashes on the field of his local team, the Toronto Blue Jays, last year.

The Blue Jays play in the Rogers Centre. It used to be known as the SkyDome.

As most old domes do, that field has artificial turf.

Think about that one.

Addendum: a more detailed post on the subject and the compelling power of stadiums and such places for many devoted fans. 

The official Auburn Turf Team image of the 2013 Iron Bowl ashes (@AuburnTurf)