The Nav Desai Sports Fan System Method

A scream through the wall signaled that something had happened. Something good? Let’s find out.

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Since losing my Dad, I've tried to lock in on specific moments we shared. Moments shared just between us, as well as those spent in the company of others. Crowds, in my experience, are a good test of relationships. 

In 2003, he drove my best friend Mike and I to Orchard Park, New York to watch Drew Bledsoe and the Buffalo Bills take on Herm Edwards’ New York Jets. It was early December and we were sitting on the unforgiving steel end zone seats for the 4 PM kickoff. Calamity struck immediately. I left my gloves in the car and could only watch as my fingers throbbed bright red, like our coach Gregg Williams’ face often did. My Dad gave me his gloves and dove into conversation with our fellow bleacher creatures, distracting himself from his now bare hands. Mike and I were mesmerized — experiencing the National Football League’s pageantry in the flesh for the first time. 

My Dad followed the Bills because I did. He knew their history of heartache and turmoil well. He knew about the four straight Super Bowl losses and Jim Kelly and Bruce Smith and Thurman Thomas. He knew that the team wasn’t very good in 2003, but that they had an outside shot at the playoffs if they could hold serve at home against the hated Jets. Most importantly, he knew how to talk. Coming to Detroit from India in the late 1960s with limited dollars in his pocket and dreams of a different life made him a fast learner. Shooting the shit with fellow sports fans came quickly. 

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I am my father’s son. Our similarities extend beyond physical resemblance. Like him, I like to talk. Like me, my Dad liked to drink. When I was in university, my Dad’s relationship with booze had to change. He started going to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. He started visiting clinics and counselors. He had his GP on speed-dial, in case a query arose. It wasn’t always smooth but he put the work in.

He tried to avoid stress or situations that would cause anguish. This included avoiding events that featured his favourite teams and players—India’s cricket team, the IPL’s Mumbai Indians and Roger Federer to name a few—entirely. He didn’t watch the end of the 2019 Wimbledon Men’s Final, but we talked about it—me fighting tears, while my Dad veered toward the unsettling intersection of anger and tranquility, unpacking a Novak Djokovic triumph he never saw. When he did watch, he did so alone. Because then he could turn it off without any outside complaint and banish the result into the bin of sports pain, never to be seen again. I thought he was onto something.

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Last April, I stopped drinking. My Dad had been in hospital and unable to communicate since October 13, 2023. His medical team indicated chances of recovery were low after his third stroke. Visiting and witnessing no signs of improvement took their toll and after reaching out to social workers I knew, I began group and individual therapy sessions focused on addressing my relationship with alcohol.  

Arsenal, the Bills, Federer…Toronto’s mostly cursed teams. I made lifelong friendships by following them. A standard weekend would begin at the bar for Saturday’s 7:30 am Premier League kickoff and end once Sunday Night Football signed off. 

Avoiding alcohol meant fully buying into the Nav Desai Sports Fan System Method (NDSFSM)™. I became the Santi Cazorla of eluding pubs, gatherings, and even the games themselves—gliding past a beer pitcher special in search of a glazed donut instead.

On May 19th I escaped the Premier League’s final day, knowing Arsenal would need help from West Ham to overtake Manchester City for the title. The odds were slim but the delusional sports fan’s sirens’ call of  ‘you never know’ rang out in group chats and texts. After busying myself with other tasks I checked my phone to see City had won, securing yet another major trophy. But I had avoided the scenes of their fans celebrating, not to mention the 8-10 beers that inevitably would’ve followed. 

The next day, I visited my Dad for the last time.

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There are some drawbacks to the NDSFSM™. You’ll never see that awesome save live or embrace your cousin following a big comeback. You might even miss befriending a crew of Western New Yorkers in the frigid cold over hot chocolates as your teenage son and his friend try to obtain Josh Reed’s wristbands and marvel at Sam Adams’ awesome girth. 

The exact play-by-play of what went down on the field that day is hazy, but I do remember my Dad going to great lengths to make sure we had a great time. I also remembered that the strangers with us in the end zone did what they could to help ensure my Dad met his goal. I remembered yelling “J-E-T-S SUCK SUCK SUCK” and my Dad joining in, laughing along. 

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I relied on the NDSFSM™ in recent weeks. The Maple Leafs potentially losing to the Ottawa Senators was too much to bear, so I turned Game 3 off after Brady Tkachuk’s equalizer. Many minutes later, a scream in my neighbor’s apartment indicated the game was over. I checked to see that Simon Benoit had won the game for Toronto.

Nursing a cherry Bubly, the drink of gods, I settled in to watch Benoit’s goal on repeat 25-500 times but Dad’s system was on my mind. Although I associated sports culture with drinking and bars, often assuming that vibe as my identity in order to make friends and fit in, that couldn’t be permanent. I wanted to redefine my relationship with these games while embracing the community aspect of being a fan that hooked me from the start. 

Game 7 against the defending Stanley Cup champion Florida Panthers provided an opportunity to head out with my fellow fans and watch a defining moment in the franchise’s history.

10 minutes into the Leafs’ second-period meltdown, I went home. 

Thanks, Dad. The system works.