Therapy Bills

“Analyze this Buffalo fans.”

As a long-time Buffalo Bills fan, I’m suffering. I’m still fuming over their “most recent” loss to the Kansas City Chiefs in the AFC Playoffs. In trying to move forward, and with the help of Jason Kurtz, a practicing psychoanalyst and also a football savant, I’ve conjured up a scenario where the Bills, as an organization, are on the “couch” with Jason. Here’s the session:

The Bills Organization, i.e. BO — represented in this role (out) play by a composite of legendary team players ( Jim Kelly’s head, Bruce Smith’s shoulders, Ryan Fitzpatrick’s beard and hairy chest, Thurman Thomas’s legs, and, yes, Scott Norwood’s right foot) — knock on an office door. Jason (JK) answers and lets BO inside. BO is wearing a Reggie McKenzie vintage jersey and team logo sweat pants. They sit on the edge of a couch across from Jason, who settles into a comfortable chair.

JK: Nice to meet you. So what brings you here today?

BO: (sighs) I’m not feeling so good. I’m really down. I’m angry. We were cheated.

JK: Cheated…what happened? Who cheated you?

BO: Us. The Bills. Did you watch the Chiefs game? It’s obvious.

JK: Can you be specific? How were you cheated?

BO: I’ll need forever to give you the reasons. It’s not just this game, but this one was really bad. I’ve been through a lot of defeats over the years, real heartbreakers. And sure, sometimes, the refs blew a call that cost us a game. But this one just feels different. I’m not one for conspiracies, but I swear the NFL wanted Kansas City and not us in the Super Bowl. I know we’re better than them. And we have the best player in the league — the MVP, in fact. We deserved to win. But call after call after call went the Chiefs way. How is that fair? It’s done something to me. I can take losing, but not cheating. That kills me. I don’t really know how I can go on? I’m thinking of giving up football altogether. And that’s been my life. What do I do?

JK: I see. You’ve been suffering for a long time with this pain, but finally, you thought your suffering was at an end. You thought your hopes would be realized, only to have them dashed again. And now, the pain has become unbearable.

BO: Yes, unbearable. That’s the right way to put it. My friends, even some family members, aren’t any help. Some of them agree we were cheated, but there’s a few who like to tease me about the loss. Except it doesn’t feel like teasing. It feels mean, like they’re kicking me when I’m down. I get so mad I can’t see straight. And what I do see is Chiefs, Chiefs, Chiefs, Chiefs. I can’t escape. I feel like the only way I can survive is to shut everything down and hide. But what kind of life is that?

JK: You’re right. Shutting down and hiding is no kind of life. We have to find a way forward. A way to mourn what was taken from you — because something vital was taken from you. But we also need to find a way to re-empower you so you can go forward.

BO: I don’t know. The only way I’ll feel better is if the NFL admits they cheated and award us the win or play the game over. But that’s never going to happen. It’s done. At least until next season. And then it will be the same thing: we’ll get close and lose again to the Chiefs. Why put myself through the pain? I should get a hobby? Or put my focus on another sport. Or another team. If only I could love the Chiefs like the Bills. That way I’d win and be happy. I must sound like whining loser?

JK: You’re upset. It’s only natural. Once again, you had hope, only to have your dreams of winning robbed from you. In past years, how did you cope with losing?

BO: Drinking. Tailgating. Eating Beef on Weck. But I’ve slowed down. I’m older. I can’t recover from a hangover the next day, and my cholesterol levels are scary. Life’s hard enough to make it harder. I would say I stewed more than coped. Just waited until I finally felt a little better. I mean, what’s the choice? You either get going or get done. It’s like when you accidentally drop something you’re eating, like a slice of pizza. The prevailing rule is you have five seconds to pick it up and eat it. But when the Bills lose, in the past, it’s like a five-day rule — that’s how long it takes for me to not feel so horrible. This time, though, almost two weeks have passed and it’s not even close to going away. Why can’t I just let go?

JK: It sounds like you never have let go. You just tried to move on, and this time you’re finding that you’re not able to. Tell me, why is it so important to you that the Bills win? What would it mean to you if they did win the Super Bowl?

BO: Oh my god. I can’t even imagine. I guess it would make me happy. But if I’m being honest, I’d be happiest to put it back into the faces of everyone who beat us in the past. That’s not very nice, is it? But even if we win the Super Bowl one day, I won’t be satisfied. I want to make them pay. Crazy, right?

JK: It’s not crazy at all. It makes sense. Can you tell me, who do you want to pay? Can you be specific? Who from your life has put you down and treated you like a “loser”?

BO: (hesitates) That’s a bit harsh. I mean, this is only about football, the refs and their bogus calls. That’s my problem. It sounds like you’re saying something else is wrong with me and not the rigged NFL.

JK: I’m not saying that at all. I know your pain over this loss is real. I am suggesting that the reason you can’t’ let it go, the reason you want revenge on those who put you down, is not merely about football. A pain this great has to be about some past trauma as well.

BO: (puts head in hands) I don’t know. I mean, maybe I know. I wish you hadn’t brought it up. But to be honest, our early years were so terrible. I mean, we really stunk — the laughingstock of the league. No one wanted to play for us, and the city would be ridiculed as being too cold or too small of a market to be successful. Then, finally, we drafted a star running back from the West Coast who brought us some positive attention. He gave us some hope, but things didn’t turn out so well for him after he retired. Or us. We were rotten for a long time again, until like a miracle we assembled a great team under a great coach. We actually made four Super Bowls in a row. Unheard of. But we lost each one. That hurt so bad. I guess you could say it was traumatic.

JK: Indeed. Unfortunately, our times up today, but you did really great work. We’ll dig more into those tough stretches in our next session.

BO: Thanks. That went fast, but I feel better. I guess it is good to open up. I have a lot more to say. I didn’t tell you my mom is a Dolphins fan. What could be worse than that? She even called me after the Chiefs game and said Tua is a better quarterback than Allen. So you can see I have a lot of things to work through. But one question: Do you think I should watch the Super Bowl? I’ve never missed all these years, but maybe it might set me back? Emotionally, that is? What do you suggest?

JK: Are you going to watch with your mother?

BO: No, she’s in Florida. She has this condo and in the front yard a fake flamingo with a Dan Marino jersey on it. So you see what I’m up against.

JK: I do. But as a lifetime football fan, you should definitely watch the game. As you do, see if you can be aware of the part of you that is angry at your mother. Notice when your mind reminds you of hurtful things she said, and look around the room and notice how she is not there. If you can notice how upset you are and how defensive you are, while simultaneously noticing that you are not currently in danger, the anger and the frustration should become less intense over time and you’ll have taken a big step towards learning how to work through these feelings.

BO: Okay, I’ll do my best. But to be safe, I’ll have a cooler of Genny light nearby on ice, and a barge of hot wings. That will help if the refs start doing tricks again and I start reliving my trauma. So see you next week. (pause) I can’t believe I’m saying this, but go Eagles!