"That guy" trots proudly into the stadium donning a Flyers jersey to watch the Tampa Bay Lightning take on the Washington Capitols, all the while going on about his glory days back in "tha delphia" when he sat in the same restaurant booth that Phil Esposito sat in two weeks earlier, or making sure you know that his brother's girlfriend's uncle once knew a guy who has an actual loch of Mitch Williams' mullet. You know the guy. He has season tickets to every team in the area, but refuses to admit he is a fan. He doesn't hesitate Brandon Jackson Jersey, however, to load up his 1988 Oldsmobile as he heads to an autograph session with a duffel bag full of Wal-Mart sporting goods and a kid in tow that is being trained in the intricate ways of being the absolute most obnoxious human being on the planet, but he is certainly not a fan.
You know "that guy". Being a supporter of the hometown team lets you enjoy Sunday afternoon tailgates at the stadium, allows you to read more than a one paragraph blurb in the sports pages, and makes you feel accepted as you drive to work Monday morning in the same good mood as everyone else on the roads because, "a W is a W no matter how ugly that 12-9 win was."
Then, there is tradition and dedication. Tradition like singing, "Bear Down, Chicago Bears" or watching "The Super Bowl Shuffle" every summer to remind you that hope is only 17 weeks away. Dedication, like wearing cheese on your head all day long, strapping on battery powered, heated socks to a playoff game in the snow, or cooking bratwurst in a hail storm because pork and mustard can cure any ill. Things like that make you remember, they bring families together across generations. Dedication like that gives fathers and sons who can barely be civil at the dinner table something to talk about Packers pro shop, if only for a couple hours once or twice a year. Tradition and dedication like that strike deep in the soul. I've seen these things, first hand, and know how powerful they are.
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