Its origins are unclear, its purpose unknown.
But that doesn’t stop sports fans from slapping hands with
one another after an impressive touchdown or game-winning buzzer
beater.
The high five.
I’ve never understood it.
So I guess that makes me the unfeeling jerk who just stands
there when the team he’s rooting for does something worthy of
the record books.
Sure, I yell random words of encouragement and other
unintelligible phrases at players when they’re in the process
of doing whatever they do to make the highlight reel on the
news.
And I’m not opposed to having school spirit. I wear UCLA
colors to games and do the 8-clap however many times the Spirit
Squad deems it necessary.
Heck, I even take part in that weird directional and rhythmic
finger-pointing brouhaha before kickoffs at football games.
But high fives ““ I don’t know about those.
Obviously I’ll oblige if a friend turns to me with a
crazed look, hands in the air for something that’s sure to
leave a stinging sensation through the next four downs.
Yet I generally make a real effort to avoid even the possibility
of celebratory interpersonal hand-to-hand contact.
Believe me. It’s not easy.
It takes a keen sense to know exactly when to look up at the
Rose Bowl’s big screen to see the replay of whatever amazing
play Marcedes Lewis just made.
And I’ve found I need to have just the right look of
intensity, of such focused attention to what’s going on, that
it would be a heinous crime against humanity for a buddy to
interrupt me to share in the excitement of whatever happened.
Most importantly, no matter what, no eye contact can be made
with the one trying to get a high five.
Yeah, I’m sure it seems odd for a guy to go to such effort
to dodge something so simple, so stupid, really. After all,
it’s just a high five.
I guess my problem with it lies in the reasons behind this
slapping frenzy.
The player who runs 80 yards for a touchdown deserves to
celebrate with the rest of the team.
But who am I to think I have anything to do with whatever
happens on the field? To congratulate another fan on something done
by the team?
So instead, I take the individual approach to rooting: clapping.
True, it’s a sort of personal high-fiving, but at the same
time, it’s done as a way of recognizing that something good
happened down on the grass.
Applauding the team is different from congratulating your
neighbor on the team’s success. And, sure, your hands might
sting a little if you get really excited about the 10-yard penalty
that works in favor of the Bruins, but it’s a good kind of
pain.
No pain, no gain ““ or whatever the saying is.
Still, I’m not so obtuse that I can’t see the effect
a huge stadium has on a person. The bright lights, the tens of
thousands of screaming fans, the band, the cheerleaders, the
craziness of the student section and a team that’s ahead
““ all of that makes for a pretty stirring experience.
If a high five is a product of that experience, then I tend to
give a little leeway to a person.
But I’m still loath to be the instigator in that kind of
situation.
Maybe it’s an inherent desire for self-preservation that
makes me shy away from high fives, a fear of coming into contact
with germs or whatever else is on another person’s hands.
(You know how those stadium bathrooms are.)
Or maybe I’ve come to show the emotion of excitement after
an awesome play in a deeper, more introspective, way.
Nah. I doubt that.
I’m just not into that whole high-five action.
That’s all.
So if that makes me less of a fan at games, so be it.
At least I won’t have to wash my hands when I get
home.
Good hygiene makes Looper happy. E-mail him at
[email protected].