There is a unique danger in a belief system that promises a guaranteed outcome. Its appeal is seductive: a final answer in a world of questions, a shelter from the winds of uncertainty. It offers to close the gap of wanting for good by promising perfect health, wealth, or enlightenment.

The peril lies in what happens when the promise fails. In these rigid systems, the belief itself is never questioned; you are. "The promise wasn't faulty; your faith was." Unlike the sports fan whose hope simply renews next season, the follower is told the failure is a personal flaw, a stain on their commitment.

And yet, the truth is, we are all closet irrationalists. This capacity for belief isn't a bug; it's a fundamental feature of our humanity. The danger isn't in the belief, but in its rigidity.

I want to teach my children how to be a fan. It’s an act of beautiful defiance in a world of probabilities and cold stats. It’s a masterclass in the joy of expectation—the vibrant, communal ache of wanting something better, where the outcome is almost secondary to the thrill of the chase.

The world is profoundly uncertain and our knowledge is forever incomplete. We can disengage and forfeit our hope to a deterministic system, or we can choose to believe. The act of committing to a team that might lose, or a faith we can't prove, is how we assert our desire for a better world.

This is the truest value of our irrational beliefs. They launch us into the unknown with our subjectivity, courage, and hope intact. The ebb and flow of our desires meeting reality—sometimes aligning, sometimes not—is what makes life feel worthwhile, alive, and beautifully unwritten. A rigid system that attempts to guarantee a final answer robs us of the joy, the adventure, and the very opportunity to create that good in the world.