I still remember one of those days during the last World Cup. The whole country was buzzing: little Croatian flags fluttering on car windows, cafés hauling out giant screens, brands pumping out the same cheap nationalist rhetoric, recycled commercials about “heart” and “team spirit.”
I was in the city, in my own head, doing something utterly ordinary — shopping, maybe, or bumping into a neighbor. We greeted each other, chit chatted for a while and then it came—THE question: “So, where are you watching the game?”
“What game?” I replied.
The look I got from them was the same as if I’d just confessed to a crime. What game?! Croatia was playing, and here I was, not just uninterested but completely oblivious. “Gasp!” hey muttered and shook their head, probably writing me off as either clueless or insane.
But here’s the thing: I genuinely don’t care. I don’t like sports. I hate watching them. It’s been like that for the most of my life and I’ve always wondered what was wrong with me. Where did that masculine competitiveness, desire to win, desire to “kill the proverbial mammoth” disappear?!
Spectacle vs. Life
It’s not that I’m inactive, far from it. I adore hiking, for example. I’ve climbed mountains with a grin. I used to love snowboarding, mountain biking, and I’d happily spend an afternoon rowing, canoeing, or just walking through the forest. If I had more time, I’d even camp outside, in a tent.
So no, I’m not lazy, I just can’t stand the spectacle. The sitting in a crowd, staring at OTHER people chase a ball, while half the country loses its collective mind over a scoreline that has zero effect on their actual lives.
I genuinely want my fellow man to succeed, rather than fail. To win, to improve, to learn, to build, to create.
And then there’s competition: I have almost zero competitive drive. Watching one side “defeat” another doesn’t thrill me, in fact, it makes me vaguely sad, as if the whole exercise is a theatre of wasted energy. I genuinely want my fellow man to succeed, rather than fail. To win, to improve, to learn, to build, to create.
The only time I enjoy defeat is when it happens to the people who “deserve it” (in my book at least): the wilfully ignorant, the corrupt, the violent, the ones who thrive on shouting rather than thinking. Them losing isn’t competition — it’s justice.
Why It Grinds gears
Maybe my disgust runs deeper, because of where I live—in Croatia. A gorgeous, small country, with people who are for the most part, really really nice and friendly.
As a society though, we are still wobbling, just like a toddler, between our socialist past and (wannabe) capitalist present. You’re right to think: Alex, who are you to judge? You’re not a sociologist with 30 odd years of experience, a famous economics author or a leader of thought of any kind. And you’d be right, I’m not!
I did graduate from Faculty of Economics though, at the time while it still taught a bit of “economic thought” and was hard to graduate so I believe I have at least basic understanding how society -should- work. I’m also human and I observe the world around me so this is what I see: bloated government, private sector crushed by taxes, para-fiscal duties, administration, macroeconomics heavily reliant on tourism sector, of very low “quality” and structure, and taxation of labor instead of property (hint: the elections!). Our mediterranean mentality probably has something to contribute here as well; people want to “enjoy life slowly” but also own shiny things — which usually means dodging taxes or cutting corners.
Special menu item are the strong local-patriot emotions: “Oh, you’re from Split and you came to Zagreb? Thats nice, I’m going to leave this piece of graffiti with you, saying literally: Ubi tovara! (Kill the ass!)“.
Zagreb licence plates in Split? Better watch out where you park that car of yours.
And yet, when football season rolls around, suddenly we’re a proud, united nation; suddenly we’re world-class. For a few weeks, it’s flags, songs, commercials, politicians pretending to care, and every café packed with sweaty men shouting at the TV.
And then, just as suddenly, it’s over. We lose, last time it was before the “quarterfinals” (is that how they’re called?). The flags get stuffed back into glove compartments, the TVs gather dust, the hangover sets in.
I can’t help but feel relief when it ends. Finally—peace.
What should Actually Move Us
Perhaps we should not be moved by points or trophies—but rather by effort, movement, exploration. The crunch of gravel under hiking boots, the burn of muscles pushing a bike uphill, the wind on our faces when we crest a ridge and the world opens up below us. That’s the stuff that stays and that’s the stuff that builds character.
Sport is a spectacle, activity is a life. One bores, the other saves.
So no, I don’t like sports. I don’t like watching them, I don’t like talking about them, and I don’t feel I’m missing out. What I do like is activity: real, messy, physical engagement with the world. Not an arena of strangers playing for (enormous amounts of) money, but the lived rhythm of breath, step, paddle, and sweat.
And maybe that’s the real distinction. Sport is a spectacle, activity is a life. One bores, the other saves. I’m curious to hear: how do you feel about this?
(I do support my best friend being passionate about water polo, playing the amateur league. It looks like they have such a good time, make friends, a bit of business and get to see more of the world than I probably ever will.)
