Alone with the Myths

A long time ago,
my oldest brother
became a fan of
the Phillies.
We grew up in
Red Sox Nation,
but at the carnival,
he won a Phillies cap,
and so he became
fascinated with
the teams of Philadelphia.

A combination
of the color green,
a baseball card
(marked with ink
by my mother)
of Mark McGwire
on his USA team,
and the fact
that they were
winning a lot
and thus famous,
made me a fan
of the A's.

But really, most people
make their allegiances
based solely on region.

So when I moved
to Colorado,
the last thing
I was expecting
when the Patriots
reached the Super Bowl
(again) was for that
awesome support
to be missing.
These people
just didn't care.

Gaiman wrote about
migrating peoples
bringing their faiths
with them to new lands,
where a shadow of
the old gods would linger,
eventually replaced
by new ones.

That's what happens
in melting pots,
things are burned away,
but then again,
that's the belief.

The truth is,
the hold-outs are
always there, and
those are the individuals,
the ones who cling
where others dream,
who follow teams
out of region
for whatever reason.

They end up
alone with the myths,
the deadliest sport
there is.