In today’s world of sports fandom, where social media makes every cheer and rant louder, a strange and dark feeling often takes over. It’s not just sadness after a loss or plain anger it’s something more twisted. It’s a sick thrill, a quick rush from tearing others down, from spilling hate and finding others who agree. Dr. John F. Murray, a well-known sports psychologist, calls this negative euphoria a toxic high that comes when we turn disappointment into cruelty, changing the passion we love into something ugly. For me, there’s another layer: the constant urge to check my social media posts for likes, retweets, or new followers, as if those numbers can ease the pain of a loss or make me feel bigger. Deep down, it’s about craving attention, chasing a fleeting sense of importance in a digital world where likes are like currency. As deep sports lovers, my husband and I share this emotional rollercoaster, our love for the game sometimes spilling into heated arguments, rude words, and blaming each other only to laugh later when we realize we let a game shake our family harmony.
I know this cycle too well, both the hurt and the pull of online validation. As a huge Lionel Messi fan, the 2014 World Cup final still stings. Argentina’s loss to Germany wasn’t just a game it felt like the world cheated my hero. For days, I was numb, replaying missed shots, wishing the ball had gone a little differently. The pain wasn’t logical, but it was heavy. My partner, just as passionate, felt it too. We’d sit together, venting about bad calls, our voices getting sharp as we snapped at each other, blaming silly things like “jinxing” the game. Later, we’d laugh, realizing we let a match make us act like rivals instead of partners. I’d post my frustration online, then check my phone over and over, hoping for likes or new followers to make me feel seen. It wasn’t just about Messi it was about me, wanting attention to dull the loss and boost my ego.
This same storm hits during cricket tournaments. In South Asia, cricket is like a religion, woven into life itself. When India wins, the loss hurts deep, tied to rivalries with neighbors. It’s not just losing it’s a raw ache, like their victory shows up our team’s failures. I’ve wanted to jump online, blaming umpires, accusing the ICC of playing favorites, or claiming the game was fixed. I know these are weak excuses. Sure, big teams might get small perks like better schedules, but the result is the result. Unless there’s real proof of cheating, no post will change the record books. Still, I’d post my rants and refresh my feed, chasing likes or followers, feeding a need to feel noticed in a sea of voices.
When you’re hurting, logic loses to emotion. I’m not the only one. Take the 2023 ODI World Cup final. Australia’s win was their moment, but for many Indian fans, it was a wound. Travis Head’s great century didn’t just break hopes it led to nasty attacks on his wife, Jessica, and Glenn Maxwell’s wife, Vini Raman. Vini’s calm reply “Put your anger where it belongs, or remember it’s just a game” was wise but got lost in the flood of hate. Those fans probably checked their posts, too, looking for likes or new followers to feel better or seem important.
It happened again in the 2021 UEFA Euro final. England’s loss to Italy sparked awful racial abuse against Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho, and Bukayo Saka. Their missed penalties became an excuse for hate, ruined murals, and a social media storm so bad politicians had to step in. Those posting likely refreshed their feeds, chasing the attention their cruel words brought.
In tennis, fans have attacked Jannik Sinner and Iga Świątek, bringing up old doping claims already cleared. It’s easier to believe in plots than admit their favorite lost. After posting, they probably checked for likes or followers, as if those numbers prove they’re right or make them matter more.
This is negative euphoria, as Dr. Murray explains a desperate try to feel in control when our team loses. We feel small, so we lash out at players, their families, or the sport itself. The likes, shares, and follower spikes feed what Dr. Murray calls social reinforcement, a trap where social media’s rewards hook us. Each notification gives a dopamine hit, like a game of chance, making us crave more attention. Deep down, it’s about us our ego, our need to feel big in a world where attention is everything. Dr. Murray says this self-obsession can grow, tying our self-worth to likes and followers, leaving us chasing a hollow high.
There’s a sneaky trick, too, called 'reverse rationalization'. We act like our hate is about fairness, saying we’re calling out cheaters or protecting the game. It makes us feel good while being mean, all while we chase likes to boost our ego. I’ve done this, pretending my posts were about justice when they were about my pain(my team my player lost) and wanting attention.
This cycle hurts everyone. It wounds players, their loved ones, and the sport’s spirit. It also makes us bitter, stealing the joy of the games we love. Chasing likes and followers turns passion into a self-centered game, and Dr. Murray warns it can make us feel emptier, stuck in a loop of anger and need for approval.
Cricket star Harbhajan Singh said it best during the World Cup mess: 'Be passionate, but stay respectful and keep it sane.' His words remind us to hold onto what makes fandom special.
It took me years to learn this. Passion is wonderful when it brings loyalty, community, and joy. But when it turns to hate and feeds an obsession with attention like when my husband and I let a game spark arguments it’s not passion anymore.It’s poison.
Now, when my team loses, I try something new. I remind myself the score won’t change, no matter what I post. Without proof of cheating, blaming others just makes the loss hurt more. So, I take a deep breath, put down my phone, and skip checking for likes or followers. I talk to my husband, we laugh about our silly fights, and we let the pain fade, knowing attention or arguments won’t fix it.
Sports are about stories wins, struggles, and losses. Not every story ends how we want, and that’s what makes them real. Losses make wins sweeter, and respecting rivals makes us better fans. Chasing likes or bickering with my husband doesn’t heal the hurt it just fuels a need to feel important.
The next time your team loses, stop and ask: Are you loving the sport, or using it to chase attention and feed your ego? For my husband and me, we’re learning to share the game’s highs and lows without letting them pull us apart. Your answer might change how you see the game and who you are, both online and at home.
