“Give Us Someone to Root For”
~Michael T. Ruhlman ©
Give us someone to root for.
That’s the quiet plea under so much of human behavior, from politics to sports, from religion to entertainment, from social media followings to the way we pick our friends. We are not as rational as we insist. We are more like a crowd in a stadium, scanning the field, desperate to know: “Who are we cheering for? And who are we booing?” We feel safer when we know our side.
Give us someone to root for, and we will overlook flaws, rewrite history, and ignore contradictions. We build identities around a leader, a cause, a tribe, a brand, a movement. We don’t just want ideas; we want a protagonist, a hero whose story we can borrow when our own feels too small or too painful.
That’s why politics has become emotional theater. It’s not simply about legislation or policy; it’s about heroes, villains, and storylines. If our “side” does something questionable, we minimize it. If their “side” does the same thing, it becomes proof of moral collapse. The scoreboard matters more than the rulebook.
Give us someone to root for, and we will defend them long after the facts have walked out of the room.
This shows up in religion too. Instead of seeing faith as a journey toward truth and transformation, many turn it into a fan club. The pastor becomes a celebrity. The teacher becomes untouchable. The group becomes “the only ones who really get it.” Loyalty to the personality or the tribe replaces loyalty to God, wisdom, or reality itself.
It happens in families. We pick favorites. One child is the “responsible one,” another the “problem,” and we write the script they’re expected to live in. Decades go by with everyone acting out roles they never auditioned for, all because the family needed someone to root for—and someone else to blame.
In the age of algorithms, we’ve industrialized this instinct. Social media rewards us for picking a side loudly and constantly. Influencers rise because they embody a storyline people are longing to cheer. “You’re saying what I’ve always felt.” “You’re fighting the people I dislike.”
Give us someone to root for, and we will hand them our attention, our data, our time, and sometimes our common sense.
The tragedy is not that we want heroes. The human heart is wired for admiration, loyalty, and devotion. The tragedy is that we keep giving those things away cheaply, based on charisma instead of character, volume instead of virtue.
We don’t just need someone to root for. We need someone worth rooting for.
That means we have to raise the bar—not just for leaders, but for ourselves. If we demand integrity, we have to practice it. If we value honesty, we have to stop rewarding the lies that comfort us. If we say we care about truth, we must be willing to admit when our “hero” is wrong—or when we are.
Maybe the invitation in this moment of digital noise is simple: become the kind of person you wish you could cheer for. Keep your word. Tell the truth even when it costs you. Treat people with dignity when no one is watching. Let your convictions be deeper than your slogans, your compassion stronger than your outrage.
The world will always be chanting, “Give us someone to root for.” You don’t have to be famous or flawless to answer that call. You just have to be real, consistent, and willing to stand for something that doesn’t collapse when the crowd changes its mind.
Heroes are not perfect people. They are imperfect people who refuse to trade their soul for applause.
Give us someone to root for. And, if necessary, start with the person in the mirror.