THE FIRST TIME I went to see a professional basketball game in person, we were in the nosebleed seats, and had to hike up a flight of steep and narrow stairs to get there. But after we settled in and the game began, I was confused. I watched the players run up and down the court, but felt like something was missing.

And then it hit me: there was no continuous commentary like I was used to hearing on TV. There was only the sound of the players running, grunting, and shouting to each other; the sound of sneakers squeaking on the hardwood…and of course, the fans, cheering and booing.

There’s a lot to be said for watching games at home. You can see the game clearly and catch everything that’s going on, in a way that you can’t from way, way back in the arena. You can see replays in slow motion. The commentators tell you anything you might have missed, and their back-and-forth patter is often amusing.

But what you don’t get is the feel of being in the arena, of joining with thousands of other people to cheer your team on. Even at home, it’s the difference between watching the game by yourself, and watching it in the company of family or friends who are all wearing logo t-shirts like you are.

Something like this, I suspect, was the mood of Palm Sunday.

By this point, Jesus had already achieved celebrity status among the people, which had the leaders in Jerusalem worried. This was especially true after the raising of Lazarus from the dead, an event which today would have blown up social media.

Some people, who had come to Jerusalem for the Passover, made a detour to nearby Bethany to see Lazarus with their own eyes. And when Jesus and his disciples left Bethany for Jerusalem, the people who had made the side trip came with him, buzzing about what they had seen. They blended in with the pilgrims who were already on the road, plus the curiosity seekers who heard that Jesus was coming and came out from Jerusalem to meet him and his entourage.

Can you imagine the size of the crowd? The excitement, the energy as they saw him riding a donkey in fulfillment of an ancient prophecy about the Messiah?

I imagine a Jumbotron hovering over the road, flashing the word “Hosanna!” and then “Louder!” They cheered. They waved palm branches. They laid their branches and even their cloaks in the road to make way for their champion, the Messiah who would take over the game and run Rome off the court.

But were these same people still cheering a few days later, when Jesus hung from a cross, gasping for breath?

FANS CAN BE fickle. We want to cheer for our team, and continue to hope for the best even when the game seems to be getting out of hand. As one, we chant “De-Fense!” when the other team touches the ball; we try to distract them when they shoot free throws; we boo at the refs when they make calls we don’t like. But every so often, our team — or one player on the team — is doing so badly that we start booing our own side.

My wife and I get excited when one of our guys hits a long three-point shot or a tough layup. But then someone on the team throws the ball away with a bad pass, or misses an easy shot right next to the basket. “Oh, come on!” I might shout in exasperation. “What the heck was that???”

This is how it goes. We cheer for our side when things are going reasonably well, but may have little tolerance for what seems like failure.

And to a lot of the people who were cheering on Sunday, I’m sure the cross and the events leading up to it felt like failure. Were they among those who just days later called out for his crucifixion? Was the attitude, “How dare you get our hopes up only to let us down again”? And if so, did some of them realize their mistake after the resurrection and believe once again?

Who knows? But the point is that we need to be more than “fans” of Jesus. God’s game plan wasn’t what the people wanted or expected, and the same is often true today. We may not have the wisdom or vision to see even what’s right around the corner. But we can trust that we ourselves are part of the team — the right team — and not merely spectators.