A Man in Search of a Football Team

I'm always embarassed when the pro football season rolls around.

I mean, I enjoy watching steroidinflated monsters without necks roll around in the mud as much as the next guy. Honest--I think the forward pass should assume its rightful status alongside Mr. Potato Head and the swivel chair as one of mankind's three greatest inventions. I think the Super Bowl is underhyped. I love football--really, I do.

Well, not really. I do observe the pigskin Sunday and keep it holy, from 12:30 per-game show to 7:00 post-game wrap-up. But for me, football is like Smartfood. I don't really love it, but once I start with it, I Just can't get enough.

You see, I don't have a team I can love and cherish and call my own. Someone with a dolphin on his head gleefully ran into the newsroom last week yelling, "Woo, Miami! Woo! Woo!" My envy with his joy and affinity for his beloved squad was equalled only by my fashionable disdain for his Howard Johnson-esque orange hat with a blue dolphin jutting out.

I had team--the New York Jets. But I was never a diehard fan, especially after they moved to New Jersey. It wasn't just their ineptitude--the Mets and Knicks were not exactly paragons of eptitude, and I've always loved them. It was the way they lost that got me so disgruntled. Too frustrating, too stupid and too boring. The Mets and Knicks could lose in their own funny ways and I'd still be as gruntled as ever.

Before I use every nonexistent positive from of a negative word known to man, I'd better get to the point. I want a new team. A team I could die for, and call Sportsphone for, and skip "60 Minutes" for if it went into OT.

The process of elimination is the way to do it. Obviously, the Dolphins are out. I'd look silly with a marine mammal on my head. And I'm too cool to jump on a winning bandwagon. Sorry, San Francisco, New Orleans, and Philadelphia. Appreciate the fans you've had from the beginning.

What about the New York teams? The Giants are another Empire State wanna-be team from the Meadowlands, and their superstar does drugs. The Gatorade bit never got to me, anyway. I was born in Buffalo, so the Bills rate a look. But Buffalo is Buffalo--like the kid says in A Chorus Line, "Committing suicide in Buffalo is redundant." Cleveland misses out on the same criterion. The Browns are great, but they play in Cleveland.

The Patriots are the Jets, but worse. I don't have enough patience to root for the Atlanta Falcons. I'm not cool enough for the Raiders' black-and-silver motorcycle culture, or the Oilers' House of Pain, or Denver's Three Amigos. I'm too cool for the Rams' Jim Everett.

I hate the Cincinnati Bengals' helmets and the Minnesota Vikings' stadium and the Seattle Seahawks' Brian Bosworth. I abhor Bob Irsay, the man who moved the Colts to Indianapolis in the middle of the night. Nondescript, dull teams are out of the question. That means adios to Phoenix, Kansas City, and the Bays--Tampa and Green.

I would never root for the Dallas Cowboys, although I will continue to support their cheerleaders. The Chicago Bears lost their chance when they filmed that Super Bowl Shuffle rap video. The Steelers have a quarterback named Bubby, which sounds a lot like what my great-aunt calls me while condescendingly pinching my cheek. Joe Gibbs is an evangelist, or so I understand. Guess that eliminates the Redskins. Their nickname is offensive to Native Americans anyway.

That leaves (drum roll, please) the Detroit Lions. Well, why not? Their coach, Mouse Davis, is named Mouse! Neato! They play the run-and-shoot! Yeah! They have a Black quarterback (Rodney Peete) who plays...quarterback!

The Lions are the team for me. What's more, they're neglected in Tigertown/Pistonland. They deserve me. And they're 0-3. They need help. They have Heisman Trophy-winner Barry Sanders. They might improve.

Go, Lions. From now on, you're all mine.

Does this mean I have to wear a lion on my head?