Nobody ever asked you what you want. What you want more of. What you struggle with. Until now.

As a sports fan, you care passionately about your team. It is part of your identity. You belong to a community that supports our team and sometimes each other. The connection is powerful, almost spiritual.

If you were a Chicago Cubs fan, you honored the curses that befell the team during 107 straight also-ran seasons. You also believe the Game 7 rain delay that revived the Cubs in the 2016 World Series was heaven-sent, by the dearly departed Ernie Banks, Ron Santo and Harry Caray. 

Carlos Quinones had another theory. Stationed in Langley, Virginia, he drove 15 hours to be in Wrigleyville for Game 7. It didn’t matter that the game was in Cleveland. Or that it was raining in Chicago.  Or that he was almost mugged. Carlos had to be near Wrigley Field to experience this. He watched on a tiny clothing-store TV, one of many that businesses turned toward the street for the would-be celebrants.

“At the end of the 9th,” he would write on Facebook, “I prayed to my mother and I felt her hands on my shoulders. Seconds later the rain delay happened and I knew she was there.”

His mother, a lifelong Cubs fan, had died eight years earlier, at age 43, from brain cancer. I cried when I read his post. I believed him. His mother was my sister. 

That is the power of sports.

Some call it the new religion, although that might be pushing it.

Some call it just plain fun. Some call it torture. Some call it both.

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One client of mine quoted the movie “Fever Pitch,” when a high school teacher/Red Sox fanatic (Jimmy Fallon) complains that his girlfriend (Drew Barrymore) wants him to skip a Yankees game. “You love the Sox,” his student replies. “But have they ever loved you back?” 

That season, the real Red Sox did, with the fictional Jimmy and Drew characters united to savor the championship. But sports isn’t always happily ever after, of course. 

Think of how many teams don’t win the title each year. Think of all the uncertainty during the journey, and all the angst it can produce, even during the best of seasons. Fallon’s “Fever Pitch” character explained, “I like being part of something that's bigger than me … than I. It's good for your soul to invest in something you can't control.”

He is right. Unless that angst feels like too much at times, leaving you sad, frustrated, even angry during the game or after it. 

That’s pretty common, considering the roller coaster of emotions and fight-or-flight hormones at play. You might let go of your inhibitions, saying or doing things that aren’t normally you, for better or worse.

For worse, your lack of control over sports eats at your soul, tears at your self-control. Or you might look fine on the outside, but inside you feel defeated or ready to explode. Who helps you deal with that? 

For best, sports provides a healthy outlet, but what if your escape disappears when you most want it, when a pandemic strikes? Sports isn’t life or death, but your sense of loss is real. Who helps you deal with that? 

There are so many times you as a sports fan wish you had an advocate. Someone who would understand you, listen to you, help you figure out what to do. 

The players have all kinds of coaches. Head coaches. Assistant coaches. Position coaches. Performance coaches. In 2018, 26 of 30 Major League Baseball teams had mental-skills coaches — why not you?

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I know your struggles are just as significant as theirs. I am a sports fan and nationally honored sports journalist who now is a a certified professional coach.

Sports can leave you stressed, stuck, unsure how to act. The losses can get to you and stay with you. Maybe the way you handle it not only affects you but those around you. Or maybe you are fine, but you are tired of being stuck watching a game near someone obnoxious if not drunk.

Maybe your significant other doesn’t get why watching sports means so much to you, why you are so passionate about your teams. Maybe your significant other wishes you acted that way in your relationship. Maybe your relationship isn’t as fulfilling as your fandom. Maybe your job isn’t, either.

Maybe you struggle to find enough time and money to follow your teams and balance the rest of your life. Add in your fantasy teams and new gambling options, cable and streaming packages, and it all can be consuming and confusing.

Maybe you can’t understand why your team is doing what it is doing, and you feel as though you have no voice. Maybe you aren’t sure how to act on social media. Or how to deal with social issues in sports. Or with players (or teams) who cheat. Or with teams that keep losing. Or with national broadcasters or officials/referees/umpires who seem biased against your team. Or all these rule changes or statistics that make no sense. Or a million other things.

It all feels so personal. And that’s the point. Sports is part of you. And your friends. And your family. To quote Daniel Stern’s “City Slickers” character, “When I was about 18 and my dad and I couldn’t communicate about anything at all, we could still talk about baseball.” 

I am here to build on that, to enhance the experience and help when you need it. 

The pros envision their success before they reach it. With the right strategy, so can you.