Having moved away from Michigan several years ago, it has become increasingly difficult to follow my favorite Detroit teams. No longer can I flip on WJR to hear Ernie Harwell call a Tigers game on a lazy July afternoon. Granted, recent improvements in technology allow me constant updates on statistics, records, breaking news, etc. But it's just not the same -- no local chatter about how terrible the Lions are, no back-and-forth about reasons to love and hate Rasheed Wallace. In spite of the great distance and limited exposure, I am a fan now more than ever. Don't give me any "bandwagon" bullshit because the Tigers are good now. I did not start to follow the Pistons after a string of consecutive Conference Finals appearances. I am not a hockey fan because the Wings are always competitive. I have been, and always will be, a fan of all teams Detroit regardless of wins and losses or who ESPN tells me I should root for.
Since I am so far away, I must either buy some sort of ridiculous TV "package" to watch the games at home, or travel safely to an establishment in my area that generously provides that service for me at a minimal charge (usually 10 beers and a dozen "amazingly azz-kickin" hot wings). Every Sunday I cart myself over to a friendly watering hole and sit BY MYSELF, next to 14 fat guys wearing Peyton Manning jerseys and nacho-stained jeans, drinking Coors Light out of buckets and talking about receiver sets, blitz packages, and how many fantasy points Willie Parker scored last week. So I sit politely and sip hot tea, quietly enjoying my Lions game--every week. I take at least three hours out of my extremely busy day to watch the Lions, Tigers, Pistons, Red Wings and Spartans a much as I possibly can. I can't even imagine how hard it would be if I had a job. Depending on the outcome of the game, I may spend even more time at the establishment-- after a loss, I pay my tab while pouting and possibly break something, but I'm usually gone within 30 minutes. After a win, and depending on the ramifications associated with the result of that particular game, I may stay an extra one to nine hours. The funny thing is, the "NFL package" I refuse to get due to the outrageous price is the same as about three days worth of bar tabs. Oh well, I suppose the ambiance is worth the price of 6 draft beers and 3 'team-colored' celebratory or consolation shots.
The reason I go through all of this is because I am such a huge fan. I think that is what makes Detroit a unique sports town. Sure, there are guys like me in bars everywhere, and everybody and their fuckin uncle has a Yankees ball cap, but the level of dedication to all Detroit teams -- good or bad -- is the difference. I will continue on my journeys and continue to write about them, watch them, cry about them, and hate them. So, if you happen into a sports bar in a big city not named Detroit, and you see a handsome young man with a Tigers hat, Pistons T-shirt, Red Wings shoes (haha-- not the actual brand, but red with a winged wheel and Gordie Howe's signature stitched to the heel), buy him a beer because it might be me. Go Lions.
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