Playoffs, Panic, and the Path to Wu Wei

A Taoist’s Survival Guide to Sports Fandom

Years ago, I once shouted at my television so loudly during an Ohio State football game that a neighbor knocked on my door to ask if everything was okay.

Well, everything wasn’t okay. The Buckeyes had just fumbled a punt, and I like millions of other emotionally hijacked sports fans was unraveling.

That’s the thing about having a sports obsession. It starts as a joyful allegiance to the team that defined your youth. It morphs into full-blown spiritual warfare in polyester jerseys. You yell. You pace. You swear off ever watching again—until the next game. And the cycle repeats.

A good friend recently texted me in agony: “Here’s a column from you that I desperately need: A Taoist approach to sports fandom… I get waaaaaaay too caught up in the urgencies of the playoffs… I need coping strategies!”

Brother, I feel you. I’ve been there. I am there. But with age, heartbreak, and some ancient Chinese philosophy, I’ve come to see the madness a little more clearly.

When Sports Stop Being Fun

Let’s start with the hard truth: fandom, for many of us, has stopped being fun. Somewhere along the way, our emotional well-being got lashed to the scoreboard.

What should be a release from daily stress becomes a source of it. We scream at athletes we’ve never met. We ghost dinner invitations because “it’s game seven.” We declare that we lost—as if Denver Nuggets superstar Nikola Jokić personally called us up and said, “Hey man, sorry I let you down.”

During my Buckeye-worshiping days, I’d start each Fall season bright-eyed and hopeful, only to descend into chest-tightening dread by midseason. Victory felt like relief, not joy. Loss felt like failure—my failure. This is certainly not what the Tao Te Ching would advise.

The Tao of Letting Go

The Tao reminds us: “When you are content to be simply yourself and don’t compare or compete, everybody will respect you.” But sports culture teaches the opposite—compare, compete, scream “WE WANT THE CUP!” until your voice gives out.

Wu Wei, the Taoist principle of effortless action, has become my emotional game-day strategy. It reminds me that there’s power in not forcing things, in flowing with the moment rather than raging against it. You’re not giving up on the team—you’re giving up on the illusion that your devotion controls outcomes. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Watching the Colorado Avs or Denver Nuggets from a Taoist mindset means learning to ride the wave of momentum, not grip the sides of the couch until your fingers go numb. Root, cheer, then detach. They win, they lose. The river keeps flowing.

Bhagavad Gita for the Bleacher Creatures

Arjuna didn’t want to go to war. He was paralyzed by emotional attachment to the outcome. Sound familiar? Krishna’s advice? “You have the right to the action, but not to the fruits of the action.”

Translated for sports fans: You can watch the game, scream for your squad, but you don’t own the result. Let go of your emotional investment in the final score. The Nuggets will still play. You will still breathe. The cosmos will continue not giving a damn about three-point shooting percentages.

A More Evolved Masculinity

And here’s where healthy masculinity enters the conversation. We were raised to see emotional reactivity as passion. But true strength is in centeredness. If the outcome of a sporting event can ruin your entire weekend, it’s time to reevaluate where you’ve parked your power.

A man grounded in the Tao doesn’t shatter his remote over a missed free throw. He breathes. He laughs. He enjoys the absurdity of it all. He cheers with heart, not attachment. He remembers: the game is entertainment, not identity.

So the next time your team collapses in the third period, channel your inner Zhuangzi and ask yourself, “Am I a man dreaming he is a fan, or a fan dreaming he is a man?” Either way, skip the existential meltdown. Make popcorn. Crack a beer. And let the game flow like water.

You are not your team’s win-loss record. You are the watcher. The still point. The fan who has finally learned to stop suffering in overtime.

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Diamond Michael Scott

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