People who aren’t Broncos fans have a serious character deficiency, or so the reactionary lizard part of my brain tells me. I walked by a man at the store who had the sheer audacity and poor judgement to wear a New England Patriots hat, and for a few moments my brain broke.

In milliseconds I had compared him to yeast discharge, dirty red communists, and uttered a long list of pejoratives that might have been unique in the entire history of mankind. This ball-deflating Bellicheck-rimming turd-cycle liked to watch football while cheering for people in different outfits. I prayed to Thor and Zues for just a little bit of lightning from the clear sky. My prayers went unanswered.

Then he held the door for me.

I said thanks, but I felt like a jerkass, even though I hadn’t done anything more than quizzically glare at his choice of headgear. I hate this completely irrational part of myself, and it only seems to be worsening with age.

Tribalism is is to blame for some of this. We entrench ourselves in a series of beliefs and see anything opposed to them as evil. It’s why trivial differences in religious denominations can lead to wars, why politics generate such incredible discord. Sometimes it’s not even about what you believe, but rather being opposed to everything your enemy holds dear.

Sometimes I feel and understand when I’m doing this. I know deflating a football doesn’t change a game when your team is losing by three touchdowns, but that doesn’t keep me from calling my rival a cheating shitstain. I know that every smart team in the league tries to understand calls and audibles, but I still can’t take the asterisk away from those championships. It’s a gulf I’m unable to cross because I care too much for my own team and am bitter at their success.

I’m faced with a decision. Do I embrace the hate, let it flow through me like some blue and orange Sith warrior? Or do I take a step back from the game and try to calm these intrusive thoughts? Do I take it a little less seriously because it has no realistic bearing on my life or happiness?

Fuck it. Let’s go Broncos!

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Tony Southcotte: Tony hails from the Rocky Mountains somewhere around the state of Colorado. Possibly raised by grizzly bears, this gritty denizen of the arena now spends most of his time grappling with Java updates and dysfunctional RAM. With not much fiction under his belt, it might seem tempting to bet against Mister Southcotte, but an impressive knowledge of everything from PVC pipe to psychedelic drugs makes Tony a storehouse of fiction waiting to hit the paper. Plus, you know, there’s the possibility of him ripping you apart like a grizzly bear.