“An ardent supporter of the hometown team should go to a game prepared to take offense, no matter what happens.”
January 22, 2012, Washington, DC: You know the drill. The remote control is out of your hands. The television volume quickly rises through the roof. Bets are placed. Competition is underway. There’s yelling. If your family is anything like mine, this reminds you of home.
Have you moved away from your hometown team? It doesn’t matter. You carry on the conversation with the very friends you grew up with, hundreds of miles away, via Facebook and text. You scream in unison. You argue the call. Like you’re standing right there next to each other, pointing angry fingers inches from the screen. Nothing virtual about it.
By and large, allegiances do not pick up and move like people do. The Baltimore girls are dressed in Ravens purple today in Brooklyn and Brookline and Bernal Heights. The boys from Boston back the Patriots down here in the mid-Atlantic. New Yorkers root on their hometown Giants from a bar on Sutter and Hyde. Those 49ers fans out of town left their heart back home at Candlestick Park.
Given the hometowns of my past, virtually everyone I know is invested in one of four remaining teams. My entire social network is fired up.