Meet Blazer Girl. Her name's Cathryn White, and she's a senior at Oregon. She's here to judge how you support your teams. If you spot fans embarrassing themselves by wearing ridiculously awful team gear let her know. Rip City, baby.
My distaste for LA began early. As a Portland fan, it's just what you do. And since I grew up drinking out of Rip City cartoon glasses, with life-sized Clyde Drexler and Terry Porter posters on my walls, it's exactly what I did.
Inherited distaste became pure hatred in 2001, after the Blazers turned into the least family-friendly team since the '86 Mets, and the Lakers swept them in round one of the playoffs. While the Lakers aren't the REAL reason for the hardships we've faced since, I opt to bitch, moan, and place the blame on them, their fans, and their city anyway. This season is no exception.
Living in a state with only one professional sports organization means that bandwagon fans run amok during the playoffs. And, this time of year, that usually means putting up with a lot of temporary Lakers fans.
I watched the first game of the Lakers-Nuggets series at a bar on campus with the cheapest beer around. This was important, considering how broke I am (I'm in college, after all) and considering the general quality of the "fans" who would be watching the game around me. Cheap beer equaled a drunker (and thus more hateful and overall badass) me.
And sure enough, right after finishing a few pitchers of Bud Light by myself, the Laker hatred surfaced.
Was I upset that the Nuggets performed better at the Staples Center than usual, yet still lost because the shortest guy on their team in-bounded the ball and Kobe tried slightly harder in the fourth quarter than he had the rest of the game? Or was it that the Gotti-style fan sitting at the booth in front of me, with his overly tanned (and freshly shaven!) arms peering out from underneath his white linen shirt, had to look over to his friend with the Derek Fisher jersey and the high fade to figure out when he should clap? Why yes, I think that was it.
When he wasn't pretending to watch the game, he talked constantly about his worldly travels and how great it was to just enjoy a few ales with his friends and not have to worry about all the hot exotic women he had to pleasure. I'm not joking. Worse than hearing him swoon over himself was having to smell his awful cologne every time he waved one of his Livestronged wrists around. His stories were boring, his scent was giving me a headache, and he was exerting over-processed energy to cheer for a team he knew nothing about.
And then it got worse. Gotti Lite suddenly came at me, chest out, angry that I was trying to capture him on video in all his glory. I wanted to show the world what a huge douche he was. Obviously the world already knew this, and so did he. Upon threatening to break my camera, he stepped on my foot and told me to "grow the fuck up and put that camera away." I put the camera away (it was expensive, OK?) but I stood my ground when it came to my immaturity. Dick. I don't really remember what happened after this, but I woke up in my apartment with all articles of clothing and other personal belongings in sight. Despite a W for the Lakers, I deemed Game 1 a success.
Now on to the topic at hand — the appropriate team attire to wear to a sporting event, whether watching in person or at a bar or wherever. I would be lying if I said I was perfect. While I am pretty damn close, it's important to remember that everybody makes mistakes occasionally. In the spirit of self-improvement, I'm putting some of my bigger ... regrets up for scrutiny. I'd characterize these choices as "drunken thrift-store free-for-alling," at best. With maybe a touch of "whatever the guy from last night left at my apartment." Mock away:
Damn. That Niners outfit is just ... damn. Anyway, It's nice to meet you, Deadspin. I think we can get along, maybe even grab a drink and watch the Finals together. Now send me shit or just send it to firstname.lastname@example.org.