I’m not one to run with the crowd. I never have been. When I was presented with an office full of Football fans, I turned to Hockey. For the first few years of my descent into icy, board-checking madness, I followed a local junior team. Then I turned to the NHL. The Stanley Cup Finals did me in. I couldn’t go back to watching kids stand around on the ice after seeing real Hockey.

I meant to like the Coyotes. I liked the logo. I liked the idea of Coyote as my spirit guide, when I was a little more hippy and a little more dippy. Unfortunately for me, Western Conference games conflicted with my Central Time zone sleep habits. So I looked around for some other team to follow, with no more stipulation than they could not, under any circumstances, be the Chicago Blackhawks. The reasons behind this are best left to an entirely different post. Suffice is to say, I just don’t like rooting for the home team. I’m not one to run with the crowd remember. This also excluded, with less prejudice, the Minnesota Wild and Saint Louis Blues.

I work for the University of Iowa. Everyone around me bleeds Black and Gold. My car is yellow with black stripes. It didn’t take long to come to a conclusion. I would be a Bruins fan. My reasoning was that I’d wear my jersey on Fridays before home games, when everyone else had their Hawkeye paraphernalia on full display. I’d at least be the right color.

There was a brief flirtation with the Montreal Canadiens. Seeing George Parros and Colton Orr mix it up on opening night engendered me to the Violent Gentlemen of those fine organizations. George’s pronounced and rather manly moustache didn’t hurt either. It was the Bruins that won me over though. It didn’t hurt that they’d almost beat Chicago in the Cup Finals. Did I mention that I don’t like the Blackhawks?

I settled into watching the Bruins whenever they played and weren’t blacked out. Damn you NHL GameCenter and your asinine blackout rules. The announcers on NESN are excellent, perhaps only competing with the CBC for the title of best Hockey announcers. I learned the names of the players, started to learn who was on what line, and what lines had better scoring potential. Krejci/Iginla/Lucic is ‘my’ line. I learned the Defensemen, where my true heart lies. Torey Krug jumped out at me early, followed by Zdeno Chara. I didn’t know anything about the Bruins or I would have known about team Captain Chara before the rookie Krug.

I embraced my inner Bruin. I got a Chara jersey and yelled at the TV when my guys scored a goal. I yelled at the TV when Tuukka Rask let one get by him. I bit my nails when Johnny Boychuck couldn’t get up and looked like he was heaving on the ice. I started using words like ‘wicked’ in everyday vocabulary. I showed up as Zdeno Chara on his knees for Halloween. Then I went to California.

It was early November. I had a conference to go to in San Francisco. I needed to stay warm, it was November after all. Traveling with jackets and coats can be such a pain. So, I wore my Chara jersey hoping to kill two birds with one stone. I was also becoming a Bruin.

I never really ‘got’ sports fan-ship before I went to California in a Bruins Jersey. I never understood how a common interest and overt tribal affiliation could bring people together. I always saw sports as something people who were dumber than me watched and got caught up in. It’s easy to slip into that mindset when you grow up a theater geek. I never, ever had the out welling of support and good will from people when I wore a stage production shirt though.

I will say this: Hockey jerseys set off the Airport x-ray machines. It gets you a quick wanding over the numbers and name on the back. They also get you a lot of thumbs up and ‘Hey! Chara! Yeah!’ comments. I even got those from TSA Agents. The hotel manager where we were staying latched onto my jersey when we checked our bags. We talked about how the San Jose Sharks were doing (very well, it was early in the season) and how the Bruins were doing. When our room wasn’t ready on time and we settled in at the bar, drinks were on the house. When I rode the BART up to San Francisco proper, and even walking around Union Square, I got thumbs up and cheers from passers by.

I’ve never felt so included in public in all of my life. It can’t be more than half a dozen people that have stopped me to talk Hockey when I’m out in my jersey, but it’s enough. It’s enough to break me out of the anonymity of the crowd. Someone that I don’t know makes me feel included, we are confidants in our passion. There’s probably a more masculine way to put that, but there it is. I’m part of the tribe.

Someone stopped me at the market the other day, to ask if I was from Boston. They saw the big ‘B’ on my chest under my jacket. We exchanged a few words on the team, and he showed me to his wife, pointing to a jersey that his son wanted. I got a sheepish look on my face and slipped out of my jacket to show him the Chara and ‘33' there. The smile on his face was priceless. So was mine.