CLASSIC: Why I will never call myself a "fan"
By Adam Uribes
· Opinion
·
· 3 min read
Back in 2015, I got mad at Broncos Country and took to my computer to let them all know about it.
As a people, we tend to look at ourselves as fans. Fan of people or persons. Fans of groups. Fans of legislation. Fans of the weather. If there is a circumstance, person, idea or fad we tend to take a side, for or against, in the capacity of calling ourselves “fans.” While it is easy to do this frequently I don’t know that I’ve heard of an official code or rule of what specifically defines a fan. As it pertains to our sports and love of our domestic teams, we all have our self-regulated rules, and almost all of them are subjective. It’s how long you've lived in an area. Or, how much you actually follow your team of preference. It can even be that they captured your attention during one, dominant stretch of time (I’m looking at you 12th Man’ers).
With the loss of my beloved Denver Broncos to the Indianapolis Colts in the Divisional Round of the AFC playoff I got to witness firsthand what happens when the passion of fandom goes wrong. Fans, belligerent and intoxicated, spewing venom about how you can’t expect much from a team that has a "loser" as quarterback (Super Bowl Champion Peyton Manning for those who live under a rock on Mars). Taking time to look a social media of any kind was a gut wrenching experience. Joe Schmoes working 9-5 jobs now were transformed into prognosticators and coaches, dissecting everything from coaches, coaches’ strategies, players’ internal fortitude and waxing that one of the most dominant runs in the team’s history didn’t matter. While not wanting to paint the picture of a temperamental fan base I could not help but think to myself that if this is what it means to be a fan of the Broncos or any other team for that matter then I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be part of that.
The sore throat and broken heart of the playoff loss moved to a whirring in my head that kept me up at night. I thought to myself, and I tried to stay away from my Twitter and Facebook, that I didn’t feel like any of my fellow Bronco comrades felt. Sure, I was upset. We had a great team. A running game led by CJ Anderson that finally gave our offense more balance to go with future Hall of Famer Peyton Manning throwing to All-Pros Demaryius Thomas and Emanuel Sanders. On defense we had 5 Pro Bowlers on one side of the ball. ONE SIDE OF THE BALL!! Chris Harris Jr., Aqib Talib, TJ Ward, Demarcus Ware and Von Miller. Yet on that cold day in January that ended in defeat, that team would not go down in Bronco lore as a Super Bowl champion but rather like the 31 other teams that fell short. I had nightmares about that game. In my dream I watched helplessly as passes to wide open receivers sailed over their heads or just out of their reach. I watched as wide open holes closed as quickly as they had opened up to envelope ball carries, stopping them in their tracks. I saw busted coverages, bad bounces and shoddy play calling lead to the same result my waking eyes had seen firsthand, defeat. I didn’t know what felt worse. Being surprised by the result or having to re-live it over and over again while being powerless to stop it.
After one of my football-related nightmares, I woke up and walked to my living to watch some TV. I have found that the only way to combat the agony of defeat is to remember the joy of victory. With light-switch speed I popped in my “History of the Denver Broncos” DVD and re-watched the 1997 Super Bowl Championship. I watched it again and again. I couldn’t’ stop there. I watched the 98 Championship team. I kept going. The Drive. The Fumble. The Orange Crush. The vertical Socks. Old Mile High. All these things that live in Bronco legend and every fan worth their salt can tell you about. I had stories about all those games too. Stories that I was only too happy to tell anyone who would listen. Slowly I didn’t feel sad, but more like reassured. I didn’t feel a gnawing, emptiness in my heart anymore but rather it was replaced by contentment. I wanted that win so bad but in the end there was already so much to be happy about that it didn’t seem to matter that much anymore. I went to bed that night and for the first time in weeks, I slept like a baby.
The good feelings of my good night sleep apparently did not rub off on my fellow Broncos fans, though. As per my routine I turned on the local radio station to hear the short sighted complaints and ignorant comments that had become too familiar over those last few weeks, but something inside of my head and my heart felt very different. I heard their comments and I didn’t feel a desire to shut off my radio or not look at my Twitter feed. I felt sorry for them. In that moment I realized that I couldn’t call myself just a fan anymore because a fan has to be FAN-atical in order to function. It may be in ecstasy and adulation for the highest of the highs on the roller coaster but loses it measure and its reasoning during the lows and I didn’t feel that at all. I couldn’t call myself a fan anymore because I loved the Denver Broncos.
What is love? A few things come to mind romantically. It is kind. It is, as the old saying goes, not jealous or boastful. It does not delight in wrongdoing. How could I love a football team though? “Doesn’t that sound fanatical or at the least very least a little weird?,” I would think to myself. But I loved the Denver Broncos since October 10th 1983 when I was six days old. Oh sure my aunt and my brother made sure I was in front of the TV for my first game but what 6-day-old stays up to watch a 3 hour game? Apparently, I did. A child’s first words are usually Momma or Dadda well, mine were Momma and Bon-cos. For a family picture my Mom let me wear my Denver Broncos jersey with helmet and I hated having the jersey cleaned. It meant I had to wash the big mud streak I would put on it just like Elway had in the '86 AFC Championship game. I wasn’t just a fan of the Denver Broncos, the Denver Broncos were something that was a natural part of me, just like my skin is brown or my nose is big.
Fast forward one summer and the start of a new season is upon us. The optimism is palpable with excitement and enthusiasm over a new season and one that for already looks to be a good one. But the grunts and groans from some people are still there. It seems like they become louder and start earlier every year. You can’t make everyone happy is something that rings to true with the topic of football, at least in this town anyway. I am fully prepared to hear the negativity and cynicism if we don’t win it all this year while also steadying myself for the “I told you so” if were planning a victory parade in Downtown Denver in early February. For me, it won’t really matter what happens because I know that I am not JUST a fan. A fan is myopic and quick to anger. They are passionate for all the wrong reasons and too few of the right ones. I love the Denver Broncos. For everything they are and everything they’re not and everything in between. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Tags: Broncos, Broncos Country, NFL, Denver, Football, NFL, Blogs