It’s awfully depressing being the fan of a team that sucks annually. I’m going on my 15th year as a Minnesota Vikings fan.

A couple of weeks back, after a game went predictably awful, I quietly asked Cory if we could maybe quit the Vikings and find a new favorite team. He said “I don’t think it works like that.” I dropped the subject and crumpled my purple t-shirt up in a moment of childlike grumpiness.

For the record, when I was 9, nobody informed me I’d be stuck with whichever team I chose to love for life. I was duped by the purple and gold and those damn Robert Smith dimples. I was young and stupid. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was a test I didn’t study for.

I don’t know which team I’d choose if I could do it all over again, but I do know I’d make an informed decision based not on the dimples of acclaimed running backs, but on talent, or skill, or, um, whatever. I also know I could never wear green and yellow or any type of processed dairy chunk on my head, no way Jose. I’m not desperate.