A life of ridicule, shame

Hardware from another time.

The NFL regular season is over. Presumably, the final piece of the puzzle will be the New York Giants who are currently beating the Dallas Cowboys in Dallas, which is always great to watch.

For the first time in nine years, my favorite team, the San Francisco 49ers, are in the playoffs. And not just in, they won their division and secured a first round bye as the number two seed in the NFC with a closer-than-expected win over the St. Louis Rams this afternoon.

But I’m not here to write about that. I’m here to discuss, very briefly, about my life as a 49ers fan. In the Midwest or upper Midwest where I am from, you are not supposed to like a team from the West Coast. According to many, you can’t like anyone but the Minnesota Vikings, the Kansas City Chiefs or the Denver Broncos. Some may say the Green Bay Packers or the Chicago Bears. Apart from Cowboys and Steelers fans, the five previously mentioned teams own the Sioux Falls, South Dakota football consciousness, with the Vikings having a majority of the market share. As P. W. Herman would say. A loner. A rebel. Well, sort of anyway. Me and all the other fair weathers.

In the 80′s the 49ers were on television every Sunday, more or less. And for me, it all started with a Dwight Clark jersey and some 49ers wallpaper. By the time I donned my first San Fran jersey, “The Catch” was already four years old and the Niners had two of their five Super Bowls in the bag. But, because of the gold helmets, Joe Montana, Roger Craig (a Husker) the winning and my awesome jersey, I was a fan in a town owned by Purple.

From elementary school until my freshman year of college, it was easy to be a fan. Three more Super Bowls, two hall of fame quarterbacks, the greatest wide receiver (statistically) of all time and a no name defense that always got the job done pegged you as a guy who was destined to be a fair weather fan. I can’t tell you how many times I heard I’d be searching for a new team when the wins dried up.

Well, they did dry up. The Bill Walsh coaching lineage died off to make way for guys like Dennis Erickson, Mike Nolan and Mike Singletary. Ownership shifted from Eddie DeBartolo to his sister (seriously) and her husband. The good Dr. Jed York had been around the organization since Walsh, but hiring guys like Terry Donahue to select the talent and direction of the team screwed the organization like the last 20 years were something of a fading dream. 3Com Park, Monster Park, whatever it was named, it wasn’t the same.

What did I do? I reluctantly bought a dish, shelled out money for Sunday Ticket for a few years. I went to bars and restaurants with Sunday Ticket, usually arguing with a waitress or bartender on the point the 49ers and Seahawks game was a much better option than the Patriots and Colts. Sometimes I’d win, sometimes I’d lose. But I was there. Maybe it makes me an idiot, still supporting a team I was not in any remote proximity of.

I wore my Jeff Garica, my Julian Peterson and my Andre Carter jerseys with pride. Not proud pride, but the sort of  pride of someone who was under the delusion of knowing “this season will be different.” That Tim Rattay was good enough to get us a chance in the division.

My red and gold hats always got me a snicker or two in public. Watching grainy films from the 80′s run of Super Bowls I kinda remembered stung rather than filled me with any pride. Stumblin’ Steve Young’s run against the Vikings was a highlight most fans of Minnesota would recall and say “well, at least you were good. Once. Super Bowl and dynasty good. Better than I/we can say.” A small consolation for losing an endless amount of games in a row to the Rams.

Since I’ve lived in Kansas City, I’ve been live witness to a  combined 72-10 pounding at the hands of the hometown team. My Ronnie Lott jersey in 2006 might as well have been a middle finger inside of a bulls eye kicking a small child with cerebral palsy to the hometown fans.

Fast forward to this season, and it’s gone from pity and ridicule to being accused of fair weather fan-ery again. Donning my new Patrick Willis jersey, someone I know asked why I would stop being a Chiefs and jump ship for the Niners? The irony is this acquaintance of mine is a fan of a team who is the “current” dynasty. I told them about my faded  Carter jersey with the numbers practically washed off, and asked if they’d like it since he was now on the team they cheer for. All I got was a quizzical  look.

Whatever happens in the postseason this year. If Jim Harbaugh is a one hit wonder. If they Niners never make it back to another Super Bowl. I’ll still be here.

I know I said “briefly” at one point. That never works out.

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