A few weeks back, I was watching the Spurs play the Dallas Mavericks. That’s a random thing to say, given the title of this post. Stay with me.
I am a (huge) Spurs fan. I also happen to hate the Dallas Mavericks. Other facts worth considering: the Spurs won 62 games during the regular season, best in the league, and were, by nearly every measure available (if not every single one), the superior team.
That said, you could imagine my frustration in watching the Spurs lose a potential clinching game to the Mavericks. At one point*, the frustration boiled over to a point where I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I lost my shit, screamed at the TV like a lunatic and had a raging impulse to take my controller and smash it to a million pieces in spite. While I was able to resist the urge to do that last bit and I did feel slightly embarrassed for acting like a crazy person with my shouting, there was, in the short term at least, an incredible feeling of release upon allowing myself that primal scream.
And that, I’d say, is really what this feeling is about. The reason for the screaming can be anywhere from ridiculous to embarrassing to dangerous, but the release is what it’s all about. Everyone always works so hard to keep their emotions in check, to keep calm… It’s nice to be able to freak the fuck out every so often.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: That person that insists on telling you, “Calm down” after these moments. That just makes you A) angrier and B) more likely to want to punch that person in the face with your fist.
*I can’t remember exactly what caused the eruption, though that’s probably the best part. It was most likely a missed assignment on a boxout, or something similarly trivial.