December 24 - The Confessions of a 49er Fan…
I have been a lifetime 49er faithful dating back to 1984, when at the age of
five, my brain, though not fully developed socially or academically, was
able to put me on the right track to becoming another beer guzzling, TV
yelling, hand down the pants participating, fantasy football addicted NFL
fan. It's still up for debate to this day whether my brain is developed
socially or academically, but one thing is certain: as a 49er fan I have
enjoyed nothing short of pure bliss over the past twenty-two seasons. I
have witnessed seventeen winning seasons, six-teen playoff berths,
eight league MVPs, four Hall-of-Famers, future hall members, the birth of the West Coast offense,
Jerry Rice, Joe Montana, Bill Walsh, and lest we not forget, four Super Bowl titles. (Had my parents
decided to take that romantic getaway to the Galapagos Islands three years prior, I would have been
able to add a fifth title to this list, as well as the famous “Catch.”)
Since my tenure as a 49ers fan, only eleven teams have won a super bowl ring leaving the majority of
fans in my generation still drooling like a TV repairman passed out on the sofa for that ultimate prize.
With that said, all these accolades over the past twenty-two seasons, and all the trash talking I have
made my co-horts endure cannot make up for what I have done this year. I have a confession. I want
the 49ers to lose. That is not all. At this point in the season every Niner fan wants them to lose.
However, I have wanted them to lose this entire season. I know what you’re thinking: I saw Steve at
the sports bar with his throw back Dwight Clark jersey every Sunday, plopped down in front of the 192-
inch plasma, drowning himself with pints of Sierra Nevada, throwing peanuts, and yelling in agony
like a three year-old throwing a tantrum at Cody Pickett as he fumbled the ball. Was it all an act? The
answer, my friends is yes. I have been trash talking, and heckling you and your teams all season and
it has all been a lie. I am a 49er fan living a lie. There, I said it. It takes a real man to admit that he is
not actually rooting for his NFL team. Luckily, instead of confessing in person I have decided on
writing for the best avenue to release this time bomb load off my chest. That way, when I am seen at
the water cooler on Monday, people can then just talk behind my back on how I’m a sellout and a
phony instead of to my face when I confront them. It all works out better in the long run. I live by the
theory of talk as much trash as you can when your team is winning and when they are losing, either
make excuses or head for the closest haven to hide such as the closet, under a table, behind a
cubicle or simply turn off your cell phone so your friends can leave you hundreds of taunting and
despicable comments about your mom and team as they like; you never have to talk to them.
Why this Black Sox 1919 World Series scandal approach to my lifelong commitment? Two words:
Reggie Bush. Reggie Bush. Say it with me. Now entering Candlestick, wait 3Com, no, Monster
Park…Number 5 from University of Southern California…Reggie Bush…Just hearing those words,
even in my delusional fan head, makes me as excited as a young lad witnessing a naked lady for the
first time. My first experience was in the back alley of a Sizzler in New Haven, so I’ll ask readers to
use a different analogy if possible to compare the magnitude of my fantasy.
Not since Marshall Faulk was drafted by Indianapolis in 1994 has there been a running back so
explosive and exciting, available for the taking. Bush is a player that could transform the 49er’s paltry
offense into the electrifying juggernaut that I have always dreamed of. (Well, at least since 2002).
Bush’s ability to terrorize opposing defenses with moves formerly only practiced by Michael Jackson
in a Billie Jean video would give the 49ers the playmaker that they desperately need. Contrary to what
some of you are thinking; catching six passes with one hand and dropping twenty-four with two hands
does not make you a playmaker. (Please refer to your football handbook, Chapter 6, paragraph 12).
Sorry Brandon Lloyd. Players like Reggie Bush only come around once every few decades and the
49ers are in a prime position to acquire this pigskin savior.
Am I wrong for wanting Reggie Bush? Has my mind been corrupted and
jaded by decades of winning tradition that mediocrity simply will not
suffice? The 49ers have spoiled me my entire football watching life, and
now I cannot take another breath on Sundays without the hope and
promise of a brighter day. I’m sure Arizona Cardinals fans who have had
the luxury of witnessing just one winning season during the same time
that I witnessed seven-teen, may think I’m acting like a rich girl from
MTV’s Laguna Beach not getting the new BMW she wants, but I really want Reggie Bush. Please? Or
perhaps it will be an infuriated Bengals fan whose team has posted a combined 121-198 record
during the same period, conjuring up the elixir of poison to place unknowingly in my pint of Sierra
Nevada or impregnate my bar peanuts because I am nothing more than a greedy 49ers fan.
All I’m asking from every 49ers fan is to simply not root for our team to win. If it makes you feel better
you can put on the front that I have so graciously adopted and give the image that you are rooting for
them, all the while secretly in private you are cursing that fourteen-yard gain on 3rd and long putting
Joe Nedney in position for the game winner. I’m not saying you have to take this approach in the rest-
of- your life activities. No one is asking you to throw your son’s Pop Warner game so you can draft
that hay-eating, pill-popping, massive brute known outside the football world as your friendly, nine
year old next door neighbor Skip on draft day next season. All I’m asking is for a little support! A little
support, to lose that is.
Normally, an idea like this wouldn’t be complete without a game plan. In this case, however, any
game plan that includes the likes of Alex “fumble” Smith and Kwame “going for single season
holding record” Harris, does not need much tinkering. By both of those players taking the field this
Sunday in St. Louis and at home the following week against Houston, we shouldn’t have any worries
about securing the first draft pick in 2006.
This Christmas, while many people are dreaming of sugar plums dancing in their heads, I’ll be
dreaming of number five tearing up the grass and crippling NFL linebackers in San Francisco. That
is of course, if he makes himself eligible for the NFL draft…