Murray v. Federer. Why would anyone support the grumpy Murray against the gentleman Federer? Why would one back ordinariness against genius? Why would one root for efficiency over grace?
Because Murray’s a Brit. Meaning I share what in common with him exactly? That we both pay taxes to the same exchequer? That we’re both subject to the same laws and have the same citizenship duties and rights? That seems a weird basis on which to base any emotional attachment. That we share the same values? I doubt it.
But for most sports fans, backing one individual or side against another is integral to the enjoyment (and the pain). One can be impressed by the skills on display and from an aloof standpoint still appreciate the aesthetics, but partiality is what gives watching sport its passionate heft. That’s true if one is a lone viewer in front of the television and even more so when one loses oneself in the hysteria of a crowd. And it’s energizing and enlivening to be swept along in a nation’s irrational exuberance.
If nationalism is not the most logical criterion on which to select an athlete or team, well, that hardly matters – at least so long as democratic institutions are robust enough to prevent such feelings spewing out into more deadly arenas of contest.
So, like most Brits, I backed Murray. For an athlete, the more supporters the better, but the irony, of course, is that an identity was conferred on Murray which he only weakly claims for himself. For he’s a much prouder Scot than he is a Brit.