I have been a Carolina Panthers fan since 1995. That’s their entire existence and over half of mine. But because I grew up in Albany, New York, and now live in Texas, I’ve never been able to see my favorite team play at their home stadium in Charlotte, NC. That changes this weekend, when my wife and I finally get to see the Panthers, MY Panthers, play the Detroit Lions at Bank of America Stadium. I haven’t been this excited since the Panthers dumped Jimmy Clausen. Then why do I feel so sh*tty?
Oh yeah, that’s why.
My Panthers fandom started as innocently as possible: I liked their jersey colors. Nearly two decades ago, long before I learned how to spell Tshimanga Biakabutuka without the assistance of Google, I was a young boy looking for a football team. Despite living in upstate New York, I knew I didn’t like the Giants or Jets, the teams my family rooted for, because I’M MY OWN MAN, GRANDMA. As for the Bills, well, they’re the Bills, so no. While walking around a convention with my bored father in the summer of 1995, I spied a Kerry Collins rookie card. The Panthers first-round pick in their inaugural draft was clad in his white jersey, with the bright blue sky providing the backdrop. I was smitten, for some reason, and ever since, I’ve bled Panthers black and blue (I really should go see a doctor about that).
Tickets to the game were a birthday present from my loving wife, who doesn’t really care about watching grown men pulverize each other. But she is a Friday Night Lights fan, so the fact that it’s the Lions playing the Panthers brings her endless delight. Less enjoyable: telling her that one of the Panthers, Greg Hardy, someone she knew only as the “Harry Potter Kraken guy,” was found guilty of assaulting his ex-girlfriend. He’s Ray Rice without a video.
I tried to explain to her that I’m not rooting for him, I’m rooting for the jersey, and I want the Panthers to suspend Hardy, and that although a judge already made her sentence, he’ll have a jury trial in November, but coherent sentences were failing me. They all sounded like the one I just wrote — verbal scribbles. There’s no defense for what Hardy did, and I wasn’t trying to make one; I was defending football.
The thing about being a sports fan is, it makes no sense. The only reason I love the Panthers now is because I liked the way the jerseys looked when I was a dumb kid. Do I stop paying attention to football because Hardy did something bad and the commissioner is a self-satisfied hack who committed the immoral sin of making me sympathize with ESPN staffers? If only it were that easy. The hot-takers who write “YOU’RE AN AWFUL PERSON IF YOU GIVE MONEY TO THE NFL” are missing the point. Just because you listen to the Beatles doesn’t mean you support John Lennon hitting women.
I want to simply enjoy my first Panthers game in Charlotte this weekend, but it’s not that simple. Not anymore. There’s so much I despise about the NFL right now: I hate Hardy still playing, and I hate knowing there’s going to come a moment during Sunday’s game where he does something good and I won’t know whether to cheer the team or ignore the player, and I hate Goodell still being in charge, and I hate that the Rice suspension was unforgivably bungled. But is football still worth it? Of course. It just sucks that the question even needs to be asked.