When the Game Hits Too Hard: How Sports Can Affect Your Mood and Mental Health

Baseball isn’t just a hobby—it’s a passion that runs deep. I’m from Los Angeles, and here, baseball is more than a sport. It’s a way of life. The infamous chant, “Let’s go Dodgers!” echoes in my mind long after the game ends.

I grew up on Dodger Dogs, Vin Scully’s voice, and the thrill of a walk-off home run. Truthfully, baseball has become part of my identity. Ask any of my friends—they’ll tell you I’m a diehard fan.

I fell in love with the game the moment I saw my first pitch. I was instantly hooked. I’ve been going to Chavez Ravine since 1988—the year I was born, and the year we won the World Series. That timing makes my connection to the Dodgers feel almost cosmic. They’re not just a team to me—they’re tradition, hope, and pride.

The Emotional Rollercoaster of Being a Fan

As a neurodivergent person, my relationship with sports—especially baseball—is complicated. I don’t just watch the game. I feel it. Every strike, every error, every missed opportunity burrows deep into my chest. The highs are incredibly high. But the lows? They hit harder than most people realize.

I’m the kind of fan who can’t sit still during a close game. My anxiety spikes and emotions pour out in every direction. I never know where to sit or stand—superstition has me second-guessing my every move. I yell at the screen like the players can hear me, my heart racing like I’m on the mound. I pace the room, quietly repeating the same phrase to myself like a mantra, hoping it might somehow shift the outcome.

When the Dodgers win, my whole body relaxes. I smile. I breathe easier. It feels like permission to enjoy the rest of the day. But when we lose—especially in the playoffs—it can send me into an emotional spiral. I shut down, cry, and replay every moment in my mind. The disappointment lingers long after the final out.

It might sound dramatic to some, but for someone who experiences the world intensely, sports are never “just a game.”

When Passion Meets Pressure

Neurodivergent brains often process emotions in ways that feel bigger—more complete, more consuming. I can be deeply loyal, sensitive to patterns and outcomes, and intensely emotionally attached. That’s what makes being a fan so exhilarating—and so exhausting.

I’ve had nights where I couldn’t sleep after a tough loss. Days where my mood was completely clouded by the outcome of a game. I’ve even canceled plans after crushing playoff defeats, needing time to emotionally recover. That’s how deeply it hits.

Sports and Identity

There’s a kind of emotional familiarity in rooting for a team season after season. You celebrate their wins like your own and mourn their losses like heartbreak. For neurodivergent folks like me, that connection isn’t shallow—it’s instinctual.

Being a fan isn’t just about the game. It’s about belonging. It’s about pride. I take joy in cheering for my city with everything I’ve got. Through every high and low, I stand by my team. And believe me—I’ll defend them with my whole chest. Criticize my team, my players, my city? You’ll hear from me.

Finding Balance in the Hype

Loving a team is beautiful. It’s community. It’s tradition. It’s love passed down from my dad—and maybe one day, I’ll pass it along, too. But it’s also something I’ve had to learn to navigate carefully. Because when your emotions run deep, you need to protect your peace—even from something you love.

Here’s what’s helped me when the emotional weight of sports becomes too much:

Acknowledging the intensity: I don’t shame myself for reacting deeply. My feelings are valid.
Creating emotional buffers: If a game is going to be intense, I try not to schedule anything demanding right after.
Journaling my reactions: Writing helps me release post-game tension and gain perspective.
Reminding myself: I’m not on the team. Their loss isn’t my failure.

Being a passionate sports fan while managing neurodivergent mental health is a wild ride. I wouldn’t trade my love for the Dodgers—or for sports in general—for anything. But I’m learning to slow down a bit, to breathe deeper, and to make sure I’m not neglecting myself in the process.

So here’s to the wins, the heartbreaks, and everything in between.