Sense of convenience

There are those who spend their lives boasting about their love for a set of colors, puffing out their chests over a feeling they claim to hold deep within, and attributing to themselves a loyalty that, curiously enough, always seems to come with some kind of benefit. Because it’s one thing to feel the colors of a team, and quite another to turn that into an opportunity for personal gain.

Love for a team’s crest isn’t measured by how often one mentions it, by the photos in which one appears alongside it, or by the speeches one delivers in front of an audience. Nor is it demonstrated by flaunting a supposed passion while others contribute financially to the very thing one boasts about. There’s a fairly obvious difference between selflessly supporting a club and using its colors as a means to secure sponsorships, perks, or any other kind of benefit.

But let’s get to what we love, what matters to us, and what interests us. The fact is, some seem to have discovered that sentiment can also be a business. Of course, it’s always wrapped up in a pretty banner of passion, commitment, and love for the town’s team.

But the matter doesn’t end there. There are also those who, without any academic credentials or professional experience to back up their claims, take it upon themselves to question the work of those who have indeed dedicated years to training and practicing a profession. It’s particularly striking when the criticism seems to stem more from comparison and resentment than from a well-founded analysis. Because disagreeing is legitimate, expressing an opinion is a right, and criticism is also part of freedom of expression. What is less convincing is attempting to lecture professionals without offering arguments that measure up to the criticism leveled against them.

Because here, we talk about both the good and the not-so-good. Of course we do. Therefore, there is another characteristic that seems to define this way of understanding personal relationships: convenience. There are people who do not interact with others for who they are, but for what they can offer them. They approach others when they need something, display a closeness that sometimes seems more self-serving than sincere, and maintain certain relationships as long as they find them useful. When they no longer see any benefit in them, the dynamic changes, and those who seemed indispensable yesterday become expendable. It’s a rather peculiar way of understanding friendship, loyalty, and respect, in which personal interests always seem to take precedence over any bond.

In this scenario—sit back and turn up the volume—we also see stories of programs that, over time, end up with new owners who aren’t necessarily the ones who launched them in the first place. Sometimes all it takes is to capitalize on a circumstance, present oneself as a victim of an unpleasant situation, and find the right moment to take over a space that already had its own identity and history. Afterward, it seems as though the story had always begun with oneself.

Perhaps the underlying problem is precisely this: confusing prominence with merit, presence with contribution, and public exposure with professional recognition.

Of course, you don’t need a degree to express an opinion. Nor is it essential to pay for a ticket to support a team, nor does getting paid for collaborating automatically make anyone a bigger fan. But it is important to be consistent with the message one champions. If one boasts of unconditional love, it would be good for that sentiment not to depend on the benefits—in this case, financial ones—it might generate. If you question someone else’s work, it would be reasonable to do so with sound arguments. And if you occupy a space that others built, it might not hurt to acknowledge where it came from.

Because small-town clubs don’t need people who appropriate their colors to boost their own profile. They need people who contribute, who respect the work of others, and who understand that the true spotlight should always belong to the club and to those who make it great. In the end, the colors don’t belong to anyone. And certainly not to those who boast the most about defending them.

Loyalty doesn’t need publicity. And when love for a set of colors is accompanied by too many ulterior motives, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether we’re talking about passion or business.

CD Estepona Fans | The Voice of the Fans (The Original)