This is a tough one for me, having watched the 2004 World Series as a 17-year-old at the peak of my ability to be petulant and angry because of the results of a baseball game: Curt Schilling's video game company, 38 Studios, has laid off its entire staff and appears to be on the verge of insolvency. St. Louis Cardinals fandom aside, this is awful news; Schilling's lost most of what he spent a baseball career earning, and 400-or-so employees are very suddenly out of work. I am now 25 and theoretically an adult.
So why is it so hard to be sympathetic to this group of human beings' plight without some petty part of me thinking, "Serves him right for beating my baseball team with a bloody sock that one time. Ugh that was so stupid I be the sock wasn't even covered in real blood, right? I mean come on!"
Sports are scary in this way. In one way they are almost completely inconsequential; in another very real way they provide the ingredients for both joy and unending anger like few other things.