A few years ago a young man walked in to a local tattoo parlor to forever mark his body with a symbol that represented something near and dear to his heart. A symbol that embodied who he was and where he came from. A symbolic tribute to his favorite thing in the world.

The tattoo was not a heart with Mom written in cursive lettering nor was it the name of his first born child or a tribute to a dearly departed friend or family member.  The tattoo he received was none other than an “NY” representing his love of the New York Yankees. And that young man was none other than me.

The point of that story is not to prove to anyone that I am a true fan of the Yankees or that I am necessarily the “biggest fan”. The point of the story is to prove to you that I am crazy. In fact when it comes to diehard fans like myself, we are all crazy.

We’re crazy when it comes to how much our adopted teams mean in our life. More often than not our favorite team consumes us more than many of our loved ones ever wish they could.

I mean love comes and it goes, but the Yankees? They are forever.

I use the Yankees because that’s “my” team, but when you think about it, it really doesn’t matter who your team is. Whether it’s the Yankees, Red Sox or Braves; Lakers, Celtics or Pistons; Falcons, Steelers or Cowboys; hell you could be a diehard Milwaukee Brewers fan, you still know what I am talking about.

We spend hundreds — if not thousands — of dollars on random team apparel to show our undying support for “our team”. We buy replica jerseys, authentic jerseys and even throw-back jerseys to prove that we are lifelong fans.

We buy hats, shirts and jackets so that we can “represent” no matter what time of year it may be. And God forbid if your team is good enough to win a championship. You may have to take out a second mortgage on your house in order to fund all the memorabilia you feel the need to buy.

Although sometimes expensive, fandom also provides an escape from reality. For two to four hours – depending on the sport –we can paint our faces, don the jersey of our favorite player and scream as loud as we want with no fear of anyone questioning our antics. More than likely we are surrounded by our fellow diehards, thus allowing this type of escape.

We “crazies” show up hours – and sometimes days – in advance of a game. We gather in parking lots or fields in order to tailgate, and we do not care if it is 80 degrees or minus 20. Just being there gives us purpose.

Along with all the positives that come with being a diehard fan of a specific team or franchise there are many negatives.

For starters as diehard fans we are taught to hate. To hate any person, place or thing that belittles our beloved team. While we can form a random bond with someone sporting some sort of apparel of our team, we give looks and toss snide remarks at any one supporting our rival.

Those snide remarks could lead to fisticuffs.

Georgia fans hate Florida fans. Redskins fans hate Cowboys fans. And we all know that Yankees fans hate Red Sox fans.

Sports have rivalries not because the players of the teams do not get along, but because the fans of those teams do not get along. Another sign that we are all crazy.

Last week in Philadelphia, Eagles fans gathered outside Lincoln Financial Field not to cheer on their beloved Iggles, but to taunt the return of a former Eagle, Terrell Owens.

“O-D, O-D, O-D,” the crowd sang as if they were at a World Cup soccer match for drug addicts.

While the cheer was fairly creative and entertaining it showed the Eagles fans in a bad light. It showed that they were more concerned about cheering on a hated rival – or in this case a hated individual – than they were about cheering on their 3-1 Eagles.

Crazy.

The worst part about being a diehard fan as you all may know is how serious we take each game.

With every win come many cheers and much jubilation. When the team wins we act like we won. As if our sitting at home wearing the same shirt we wore for the last victory had something to do with the outcome. Our silly suspicions make us crazy.

And if we lose? Oh, the pain and anguish we feel. We question every move the manager/coach made as if we could do better. We belittle the other team’s talent, because everyone knows that “the better team didn’t win this time.”  It’s pure madness.  It’s an epidemic. It’s damn near a disease.

Last weekend it hit me. Like Mel Gibson after 18 shots of tequila, I realized that I had a problem.

My problem can be summed up in four words: Tigers 8 Yankees 3. The final score of the ALDS that sent “my team” home for the year.

The loss brought on pain and anguish and an extreme amount of saltiness. I replayed the whole series in my head trying to figure out what went wrong.

I put on a grimace and cursed out my wife. I was mad at the world and everything in it. All because of a baseball game.

Then I looked at my son.

Three-months-old and wearing his white Yankee button up. He lay on his stomach and just looked at me with a smile on his face and cooed. All of the pain and anguish I was feeling went away.

Too often as sports fans we forget about the important things in life. We spend all this time focused on the wins and losses of our team and we ignore the wins and losses of life.

A three-month-old made me realize this, and the tragic death of Yankee pitcher Cory Lidle reinforced it a few days later.

While conference titles and championships are important, they certainly aren’t life and death like we make them out to be.

Sports are here for entertainment and for our enjoyment, not to stress us out and drive us crazy.

So from here on out I am going to cheer on my team’s successes and build on its failures. I am going to bond with my fellow fans and support the competition that my rivals bring to the table.  From now on I am not going to take sports as serious as I used to.

Does that make me crazy?

Note: This article appears in the October 17th issue of The Signal and was reprinted for those thousands of sad Mets fans FOX showed last night.

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