(the below post reflects the opinions of two certain narrow-minded people, not my own opinions)
Hi Everyone, My name is Angela and I’m an alco….Giants Fan. A hush comes over the audience as they digest the shocking admission I’ve just made. Well, at least that’s how I picture it if there were a 12 step program for being a fan of the wrong team.
I’m a turn coat, a dissenter, a traitor. And I admit it. My family and I are lone San Francisco Giants fans in the heart of Atlanta Braves territory. Worse yet, we’re flaunting it, unwisely begging to be executed in drive by fashion.
Currently my husband, kids and I are on five different prayer lists. We’ve been contacted by two reliable exorcists and my parents (lifelong Braves fans) have stopped going out of the house. “It’s not you, Angela. Really. These days we just prefer staying indoors with the curtains closed, the doors bolted, and our vehicles hidden from sight,” says my mom, who’s looking particularly pale.
The other day as I sat eating breakfast at Nana’s kitchen, I overheard Mr. Ira Miller say to his wife Ida. “That’s the Hall girl. It was bad enough her running off to Berkeley, California to cavort with all those left coast, liberal nut jobs. Then she had the nerve to marry one of them, have a couple of hippie liberal youngin’s, and bring ‘em back home to God’s Country with her. And if that wasn’t enough, now they’ve turned against the Braves and are pullin’ for the Giants…during the PLAYOFFS.”
Miss Ida began fanning her face, about to have one of her “spells.” “She might as well have become a homosexual Nazi Muslim Jewish black tofu eating Harry Reid supporter, as to be pullin’ for the Giants on Braves soil,” exclaimed Miss Ida.
First of all, my husband and I are NOT liberals. Second of all, well there’s no second of all. We’re just simply Giants fans.
Growing up I loved the Braves. Heck I was a Braves fan when being a Braves fan wasn’t cool. I went to their games when ticket agents would try to crowd the entire audience behind home plate to make TV viewers think more people were there.
I did the tomahawk chop. I wrote fan letters to John Smoltz, even made Will Smith, my high school boyfriend name his black lab Smoltz. Poor Smoltz ran away after his namesake had a particularly bad outing on the mound. I thought I saw him weeks later in another neighborhood answering to the name of Glavine.
I never questioned my Braves loyalty. Even after moving to San Francisco, I’d go to Giants games wearing my Braves jersey. Slowly, however, after marrying into a family of die hard Giants fans, I began to identify with them more and more. At first it was little things, wearing orange and black outside of October, checking the Giants score before the Braves score on ESPN, and so on. Finally, one day I woke up and just knew, undeniably, that I was a Giants fan. Living in San Francisco it wasn’t difficult. People would understand, accept me and celebrate my loyalty.
Moving back to Georgia was a whole new ballgame. (pun intended). Since the Giants are NL West and Braves NL East, they rarely play each other. I was able to hide my Giants loyalty for nearly three years. But then, last Sunday, the Braves clinched the wild card slot and the Giants won the NL West division, meaning they’d be facing each other in four short days and I’d be officially out of the closet as a Giants fan. It was time I came out of the closet and admitted the truth.
So far, it’s been hard, but we’re weathering the storm. My step-daughter Jenna flew in yesterday to offer her support at today’s game.
Right now, on 10-10-10 (Giants right fielder Pat Burrell’s birthday) we’re waiting for 2 pm when my family of Giants fans can head to Turner Field, clad in black and orange to cheer for our team.
Grab a torch and pitchfork and form a mob if you must. But I promise, after this series is over, I’ll be back among the everyday people…if they’ll accept me.