We specialize in hyperbole as sports fans. We major in it (with a minor in recency bias).
In the moment after we see Aaron Judge launch one over the moon, we can talk ourselves into believing no one who’s ever lived was ever as gracefully powerful (or powerfully graceful) as Judge. When we watch the Rangers slap another goose egg on a scoreboard, we can believe, in that moment, that we’ve never seen anything more hapless, on ice or any other surface.
That’s sports. We get carried away by the moment. That’s part of what makes it all so appealing. It rarely takes more than a minute or two — sometimes, if you’re especially giddy or angry, an hour or two — before we recalibrate our brains and can put things in proper perspective again.
But sometimes, our instincts are dead-on.
