How many opportunities do you get in life to fall in love with something for the first time? Not many. I thought of this concept recently, as I’ve been glued to the TV for the NBA playoffs and watching my Phoenix Suns float to the top.
It’s been at least 25 years since I first fell in love with the Steelers—that is, since I was first cognizant enough to know what I was watching and to know that I should cheer and to love and feel a connection with the players and the team. It’s been since the early ‘90s that I fell in love with the Penguins. And I’m not really sure the last time I could call myself a Pirates fan; it’s been years and years since they were a decent team and I’ve grown to despise baseball in general. So, for the better part of my life, I’ve just played the role of superfan when I can.
I didn’t realize it as it was happening, but every moment with the Suns has been my first: breaking the TNT curse, sweeping the Spurs, and being part of the rise of the bench and the fall, rather, graceful decline, of Nash and Hill. I get to experience the transition from old to new—the birth of a new generation of Suns players and fans. And it’s been a really long time since I did that for the first time.
Coming from Pittsburgh, I was never a fan of basketball. Other than Pitt, there’s no team in the ‘Burgh—and, even now, as a basketball fan, I still don’t link watching college ball. Since moving to Phoenix, I’ve become a diehard Suns fans. I watch nearly every game; and, go to as many as we can afford. I read blogs and watch practice video and follow news. I own more than a few pieces of purple and orange gear. I find myself excited to drive to work in the morning so I can listen to my favorite sportscaster wax poetic about the state of the team.
I’m glad my love affair with basketball started in Phoenix—no matter where I travel or where my roots may grow, the Suns will always be my team.
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