2010-2011

The Blazers probably mean a little too much to me.

I do all the irrational things that irrational fans do: I wear one of the same three shirts for every game. If I'm working, I'll DVR the game and avoid all forms of media so as not to catch the score. I'm offended when anyone suggests Portland will have a down year or that the Thunder are the favorites in the division or that Brandon Roy isn't the third-best two in the league.

I know that I got a little teary eyed during the Christmas day game last year, when Roy lit up the Nuggets on national TV. I know that I puff out my chest after a big win. I know that when Oden's knee spontaneously combusted last year, I felt a true sense of pain and loss. It wasn't only as if my dog had just died; it was like he'd been put through a Saw movie in the process.

These are the things that periodically cause me to lose sleep: my dad's health, my search for a career, my responsibilities at work, the existence of God and the afterlife, and whether Lamarcus Aldridge can ever become a legitimate low-post threat. These are not necessarily in order.

When I think of my life, I use NBA seasons as mileposts. I had my first kiss in 7th grade; the Spurs swept the Blazers a few months later. I met my future wife in 2003; Portland choked away a game seven against Dallas. I received a generous scholarship on May 22nd, 2007; the Blazers won the draft lottery the same day - for better or worse.

I believe that life is precious, and that you only live once. I know life is short, and that I should make every second count. And I have made my seconds count, especially when drafting a 400-word email to Ric Bucher explaining the nuanced efforts of Joel Pyzybilla on the offensive glass.

I'm not ashamed of my fandom. The payoff, I tell myself, will be worth it. The pride I'll feel when the Blazers finally win a championship - the pride that only athletes my age getting paid 100 times more than me can bring - will outweigh the pain of June, 2000. The sting of Rasheed and Bonzi's antics will fade, the jokes about Oden's junk will disappear. The pride, I'm sure, will somehow validate the times I've snapped at people at work because Kevin Durant put me in a bad mood.

I'm aware, however, that this pride will not come to me this year. The Blazers will not win a championship. But I'm also aware that they'll suck me in somehow. At some point, Greg will put up 18 and 12, and Brandon will give me chills with a fourth quarter performance, and Mike Rice will sober up long enough to offer some insightful commentary and I'll somehow buy back in. It's this hope - the hope that the players themselves will get swept up in their own talents and somehow elevate their game and my city in the process - that always brings me back.

So when it does happen, when the Blazers do justify my stupid devotion, allow me a moment to dab my eyes. It won't be the best moment of my life, or the most significant, but it'll feel really damn good, and there's no shame in that.