I don't have a favorite NFL team. Sure, there were some candidates over the years. The Broncos, when they won two Super Bowls. The Titans were my high school mascot. But then it just became rooting for whichever team had a nice story. (Meaning, whichever teams drafted players from Bowling Green State University.) As man-whorish as it sounds, it's worked pretty well up 'til now.
But even though I'm not that old, I'm not getting any younger. Admittedly it's probably time to settle down and start a family with a football team. We can grow old together. (For the Lions, this may only take one season.) We can lean on each other during rough times, and celebrate during the joyous ones. And in 50 years, we'll get a huge party thrown for us of which we will have very little recollection.
There are so many fish in the sea — 32 to be exact — and with so many choices, I thought the search would take forever.
Until she came around. And wouldn't you know it, she was right under my nose the whole time.
Detroit is a great candidate. She makes me feel better about myself, in that she makes me believe that I, too, could be President of an NFL team. She's there when I'm down, and I'm always there when she's down … by two touchdowns. She never thinks selfishly, and always puts the other team's interests first. Other teams look forward to seeing her on the other sideline, which is a huge boost to my own machismo. She's a tremendous cook, and really knows how to make a great Thanksgiving dinner. And when April rolls around, she's always No. 1 in the land. Who could ask for anything more?
Still, my fear of commitment still keeps me from becoming a Lions "fan." Hopping on the bandwagon now would promise me great seats, but the cheapest ones are $50, or 16 Eastern Michigan football games.
No, "fan" isn't the right word. Lions fans commemorate winless seasons with tattoos. That isn't me. Perhaps a better description is to be a Lions observer. It's committal enough but enables me to back out at any time without much guilt.
Commitment isn't easy, but if so many other guys can do it, then why can't I? So if you see me walking around Bed Bath & Beyond on a Saturday hand-in-hand with the Detroit Lions, and I look like a broken man, please don't help me. Deep down, I'll probably be happy.