I hate sports, here’s why I catch a game whenever I travel

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know the rules or the teams, sport is a window into a city’s culture. 

It’s a bluebird-blue day on the shores of Whakaraupō Lyttelton Harbour, around 20 minutes from Christchurch in NZ.

Behind me, a crowd of thousands is packed onto tiered bleachers, clapping, cheering, leaping to their feet, as a fleet of 10 zippy sailboats - riding high on the water thanks to four ramrod-straight keels - are darting at terrifying speed over the opalescent water as part of the inaugural SailGP event in 2023.

I have absolutely no idea how the course works or what any of the rules are (the race isn’t a straightforward A-to-B situation, there are all sorts of weird turns and zig zags) but it’s still proving to be the most exhilarating day I’ve spent on this trip. “I think I’m into sailing now!” I cried to my companions at the end, mentally vowing to take lessons when I returned to my hometown of Sydney.

SailGP in Christchurch had me signing up to learn how to sail. Picture: SailGP

This was a ridiculous impulse of course - I’m about as likely to take sailing lessons as I am to pilot a spacecraft to Mars - but from that point I was hooked on the idea of seeing the world through sport. The event was exciting on its own merits but it also gave me a glimpse into the unique energy of Christchurch and New Zealand as a whole.

I watched in awe as the athletes were brought to shore on a traditional Māori waka flotilla. I clinked celebratory Champagnes with locals, who shared tips about the best place for a beer back in town when the day was over. I strained my neck to try and see the pod of Hector’s dolphins - the tiniest and rarest cetaceans in the world - that stopped the race when they swam into the boats’ paths. As an outsider it was a huge thrill to know these native NZ mammals were there, even if I didn’t manage to spot their telltale puffy blows. And most of all it made me feel, just for a moment, that I was part of the local community.

Writer Alex Carlton on board and among the crowds at Sail GP. Picture: Alex Carlton

Since then, despite never voluntarily attending any sports in my own city, I’ve started actively seeking out matches and games whenever I travel. If the primary purpose of travel is to get an honest taste of someone else’s culture, I have begun to realise that sport is a pretty good way to do it.

It was a similar experience earlier this year in Mexico City when I joined thousands of full-throated fans at Aréna Mexico for a Lucha Libre match, Mexico’s version of WWE Wrestling, and something that all Mexican kids grow up watching and revering. As soon as I jostled my way to my seat, I felt like I was part of the city’s fabric. All around me, families were waving jumbo bags of chips (Mexicans love a good chip, as a Tulum chef explained to me a few weeks earlier) and beer cups the size of small backpacks. 

The high-flying fun of Lucha Libre wrestling.

“Mistico!” wailed a little boy beside me who looked to be about six or seven years old. Despite the language barrier of the ringside commentary, I soon understood that Mistico was the silver-spangled ‘luchador’ who was hurling himself dramatically onto the ropes and performing flamboyant kicks and flourishes against the opposing ‘baddie’ team. “Mistico!” I cried as well, figuring that my tiny seatmate probably had the right idea about who to barrack for.

As the match went on - the rules were still completely impenetrable - I yelled ‘Misticooooo!” with even more vigour, following the cues from my young expert friend. Once again, I had no idea what was going on in the arena but simply being part of the crowd made me feel like I belonged.

At the end of this month I’m heading to Chicago, and while I have my restaurants sorted (hello Smyth, Kasama, Avec), and I’m doing a few properly touristy things such as an architecture tour and eating every type of pizza available, I’m also booking myself into a Cubs game at Wrigley Field. I don’t know anything about the Cubs or Wrigley Field or baseball at all, except that they all sound storied and sentimental and deeply American. I want to eat a hotdog and see one of those silly mascots teeter onto the field to wheezing organ music, and yell and cheer and high five my seatmate when someone makes a home run. 

Next up for this writer is a Cubs game at Chicago's famed Wrigley Field.

I probably won’t even know a home run when I see it, let’s be honest. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to experience a slice of Chicago culture, as emblematic of the city as a thin-crust taverna pizza or Al Capone.  And isn’t that exactly why we travel?

Originally published as I hate sports, here’s why I catch a game whenever I travel