The life of a Philadelphia sports fan is a tumultuous one to say the least. I grew up a half-hour outside of the city, with orange and black and green and white surrounding me. That meant Flyers games with my dad anytime my brother was too busy to go. That meant Chickie and Pete’s crab fries and listening to my dad cuss out the ref and not getting yelled at when I joined in. I remember walking down the concrete steps after a tough loss and my dad just kind of strolling out, no hands throwing no drinks spilled, just head held high, leaving our city. I didn't understand at first how a fan base could be so dedicated to a team that frankly, lost more games than I remembered them winning. But it's the heart-pounding, feet stomaching "Let's Go Flyers" that echoes in my memory.

Philly fans are a different breed. While most of us borderline socially unacceptable, you find those people in the nosebleed seats. While it doesn't make them any less of a fan, they're often new ones, just getting a feel for what it's like to be on Broad Street. But it's the section where I've sat my whole life, 112, that I've found the people that have taught me some of life's greatest lessons, even if they didn't know it. After a few years, you get to know the people around you, the season ticket holders that never miss a game. There was the man and his daughter with cerebral palsy that always sat to my left. I watched the game almost through her eyes at times, she was so serenely happy in such a hostile place. She clapped her hands together while belting, "Hey ref you suck!" And I cheered with her because there was nothing better than seeing the game through the perspective of someone living out their dream. Her dad made every game a once in a lifetime experience for her, and they taught me to cherish the time I had with my own dad while watching my team. I learned a lot from the lady in front of me too. She had been at every game I'd ever been at. Although I never talked to her I could tell you most things about her. She never came with anyone, she always came alone. She immersed herself in the game and she stood up for every fight. I watched her send pictures of the ice to multiple people on her old flip phone but without ever a response. She was there for herself because this team was something that she gave her undivided attention to. She taught me that you don't need anyone else to justify the things that you love.

And I think above all, my dad, who slightly resembles a younger Bernie Parent, taught me the most about what it really means to be a Philly fan. Whether it be the Eagles, Sixers, Phillies, or Flyers, if it was game day you wore the colors, you showed up, you said a prayer, and you stood with your team regardless of the outcome. The same can be said for a lot of life's lessons, especially relationships. This fan base taught me to be loyal without a fault. They taught me to be consistent in my words and to choose them carefully. I learned about pride and how to lose with “some” dignity, even if everyone around you is spitting on the ref. If there's one thing I know for sure, being a Philadelphia sports fan has taught me how to take a hard loss and laugh and yell anyway. And if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that I will always support my Broad Street Bullies.