Phinaticism

It wasn't looking good two years ago.

The Dolphins went 1-15, and people would look at me and say, "If they ever manage to win the Super Bowl, I'll tell everybody you were wearing the shirt when they sucked."

I remember at the time thinking that there's no way my son is going to follow in my footsteps. There's just nothing for him there. As much as I want it, there's just nothing there.

The allegiances you owe to a team -- the true ones that are irreversible -- are born in childhood. You don't just "pick one" as an adult and really feel it.

I became a Dolphins fan in 1983, when I was 9 -- the same age he is now. One of my step-fathers was from Ft. Lauderdale and lived and died by the success (mostly success) of the team. I remember going down there and fishing coconuts out of the waterways.

When he up and left one day when I was 11, I decided I hated the Dolphins and would become a Broncos fan. It never worked. It wasn't real. The dolphin wearing a helmet jumping through a ring of fire (or is that a rendering of the sunshine?) just always held a place in my heart.

Twenty five years or so later, my son decided he liked LaDanian Tomlinson. Which means he became a Chargers fan.

I was skeptical. But he seemed to stay firm.

Fine with me.

But I still never lost hope.

When he was 2, I bought him a Ricky Williams poster for his room, hoping they could hold up their end of the deal. They didn't.

The domination of the '70s, the fireworks of the '80s and punking the Jets and Cowboys (and being punked by the Bills) in the '90s ... ancient history (though winning the AFC East last year did help me gain some traction).

I had thought about bribing him: "I'll buy you a Ronnie Brown jersey for Christmas if you become a Dolphins fan."

Of course, that goes against everything that I know to be true if the real goal is an authentic, undeniable loyalty.

It would have to happen on its own.

I'd always ask him, "You sure you don't want to be a Dolphins fan?"

"I like them," he said, "but I like the Chargers first."

I'd always end it with, "Well, you know as far as I'm concerned you can like whatever team you want."

And then I bought him a Tomlinson jersey.

But my opportunity had come.

On the way to Charlotte to see the Dolphins plays the Panthers on a Thursday night, I asked him one of the many probing questions I come up with to divine his heart.

"So what would happen if the Chargers traded Tomlinson? Who would your team be? The Chargers? Or the team Tomlinson plays for?"

He told me hoped that didn't happen. That he didn't think it could happen. But that he'd pull for whomever Tomlinson played for.

There was my glimmer of hope. I could see that his heart hadn't been set.

We rolled into Charlotte, and I knew there was still a chance.

All the Dolphins had to do was do their part.

As we're throwing the football in the parking lot, the Dolphins fans are everywhere.

On the way to the stadium. And inside the stadium -- the especially drunk ones hugging it up.

Everywhere I walk, somebody slaps me on the back or says "Go Dolphins!"

He began to feel it.

The proud tradition -- '72 undefeated, the Bears in '85, Marino to Clayton, the aqua jerseys glowing warmly like the Kool-Aid seas of Miami, etc.

All these people.

And then it happened.

As the Dolphins led 14-3, the chant gained steam, then rung throughout amid the blue and black.

"Let's Go, Dolphins!"

You would have thought we were in Miami.

By the end of the night, Ricky Williams -- that 32-year-old guy on his wall -- would score three touchdowns. And the Dolphins would wind up doing their part, 24-17.

I saw his eyes open wide, drinking it all in.

"Daddy, I'm a Dolphins fan."

"Really? What about the Chargers?"

"Daddy, I'm a Dolphins fan."

With the voices of thousands ringing, I spoke for them: "Well, we'll take you."

I can feel it. It's true. His heart is set on the righteous course.

And now -- only now that it's real -- the Ronnie Brown t-shirt jersey is coming.

I just can't resist.

And the great thing is ... now I don't have to.