I live in a college town. A college town without an NFL team. A college town without an NFL team that LOVES some football.
I like football too. On Sundays, I can be seen wandering about my business in my Chargers tee shirt (I have to buy them down south because up here, it's all about the Niners and the Raiders and while the Niners are okay, I won't even TOUCH a Raiders tee because I'm not a thug and I don't want Raiders cooties to rub off on me.)
I like football, but HM LOVES football. I'm learning a lot about the game from him and, while he has his favorite NFL team, Nevada tops his list of college teams, so he goes to the games when he can and tailgates and does all those things you are supposed to do at all football games, but I thought were exclusive to NFL games. I don't think I know anyone who goes to SDSU games. Maybe they do but don't talk about it. I don't know. I really only started getting into football when I was living with Poo because, Cowboys.
I have learned in the years that I have lived in Reno, that you are either a Nevada fan, or, shut up. This even bleeds into work where, on home game Fridays we are allowed and encouraged to wear our fan gear with jeans and show our pride. Pride in the Wolf Pack (which, interestingly, was my High School mascot as well. This caused some confusion when I moved here. With all those Pack stickers on people's cars, I thought I had moved to a hotbed of West Hills Alumni) but nobody else.
A couple of years ago, I unknowingly wore a red shirt on homecoming weekend. I thought my coworker Rob was going to blow a gasket. I was ignorantly wearing the other team's color. Reno and Las Vegas have a pretty strong rivalry and there's something about a cannon that gets painted depending on who wins and gets to take it home. I don't know. Still learning.
Until last week, no one really said anything to me as long as I was wearing white or blue (not red!!). Last week, things got a little crazier.