I was born in 1987, three years after Bob Irsay packed up the Colts franchise in a few Mayflower moving trucks and snuck out of Balmer. I never knew the Balmer Colts, never rooted for them. I own a John Unitas jersey, but that's out of respect for Balmer football history, not any real affinity for the last NFL franchise to play in Charm City.
The Ravens were the first team that I followed, the first football team I cared about. I never cared about the Redskins or the Eagles. They weren't mine, so I couldn't.
My father lived in Pittsburgh for a few years in the early '80s after growing up an hour north of Balmer and rooting for the Colts his entire life, but he never could become a Steelers fan. They weren't his, just like the Eagles and the 'Skins couldn't be mine.
Right or wrong, we were both loyal to Balmer. We couldn't feign loyalty to something that wasn't ours. My dad's team was violently ripped away from him. I never got to have one, not until 1996.
And so, even though I never saw John Unitas, Raymond Berry, John Mackey or Lenny Moore play, I feel some loyalty to that old team, and to the fans of that old team. Some loyalty to my father.
So sorry, Peyton. I think you're a blast to watch and maybe the best ever at your position. At least the best that I've seen.
And sorry to my sister, brother-in-law and niece. I love you and will be very, very happy when the team that you root for wins the Super Bowl tomorrow. But happy for you, not for that franchise.
I'm sorry, but I wouldn't root for your Colts if they were the last damn team on the planet.
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