As I served Bud Light pitchers and buffalo chicken nachos at work last Sunday, I watched as everyone, from the table of drunks knocking over shots to the bartender wearing his Giants cap with pride, screamed at the game on TV. All the while, one disturbing fact wouldn’t let me be: I was more or less just a witness to it all.
I figured out whose fault that is. Connecticut. And I’m sure of this, because even the Boston Globe ran a story on Connecticut natives (Connecticutans? Connecticutites?) confused about who to root for in the upcoming Super Bowl. Connecticut is a state that, because of its geographical location, can’t seem to make up its mind about whether it’s part of New England or the tri-state area.
As for me, I spent the first 18 years of my life in Danbury, Conn., a reasonably-sized municipality an hour northeast of Manhattan. My dad is both a Giants fan and Yankees fan – pretty standard for a Danbury native. But my uncles are a different story. One roots for the Jets and Yankees, while the other supports the Red Sox and Pats. Still another likes the Pats and Yankees.
But beyond sports, Connecticut just seems to be one of those nothing states, probably right up there with North Dakota (Seriously, do those people even exist?). It’s funny, though, because as small and seemingly pointless as my home state is, I grew up surrounded by people who never thought twice about its importance.
Take my parents, for instance. Last summer, we were stuck in traffic in Waterbury, one of Connecticut’s biggest cities. My dad, who’s not the world’s most patient guy, started cursing the state’s two-lane highways, mumbling about how he couldn’t wait to retire in South Carolina. This didn’t sit well with my mom, who staunchly defended Connecticut as her home.
“It’s where our family is from,” she said. “We have a family in Connecticut and we always will.”
My mom has never lived anywhere but Connecticut, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. It may be a nothing state with not much to do (other than drink, something she doesn’t do very often), but she’s okay with that.
Not to sound like a total corn-ball, but even though I’d much rather be in Boston or some other city doing a ton of crazy stuff, Connecticut is my home base – conflicted though it may be.
And hey, in terms of sports, we have UConn, and thus numerous NCAA men’s and women’s basketball championships. I definitely rocked point guard Diana Taurasi’s No. 3 back in my day. In fact, I loved the UConn girls so much that in elementary school I would blabber on about what life would be like “when I play for Geno one day.” That’s Geno Auriemma, the coach of the UConn women. (That was before I realized four years in the cow town of Storrs wouldn’t really work for me.)
Pro sports are still important to us Connecticut people , but when the Yankees play the Red Sox in the ALCS, the opposing sides don’t fight with the valiant bitterness Massachusetts natives do.
In order to decide who to support in the Super Bowl, I had to think very seriously about what felt right. And that turned out to be the Giants. Hey, as a Yankees fan and greater New York City area native, it makes sense. So go ahead and egg my apartment, Boston, but when Civil War breaks out in Connecticut on Sunday, I don’t want my family to be ashamed of the choice I’ve made.
