Let me tell you about my team.
I’ve followed them through every high and low. I know the heartbreak of a close loss, the adrenaline of a big comeback, and the magic of those moments when everything just clicks. I’ve screamed at my TV, jumped up from my seat, even teared up once or twice, (or 100+ times)…
I’ve worn the gear. The orange and black, as my biggest loyalty. The red and gold. The royal blue and gold. I’ve sat in nosebleeds and lucky seats, been at opening days, home openers, and playoff games. I’ve talked trades, injuries, lineups, and buzzer-beaters. I know who’s clutch in the fourth and who you want at the plate with two outs in the ninth. I’ve planned weekends around big games, or 7 games with my Giants.
Cleared nights for rivalry matchups. Hosted watch parties, brought themed snacks and earrings, worn lucky socks. My friends and I message during games like we’re on a group chat with the teams. And when my team wins, I celebrate like I was there. When they lose, I defend them like family, sometimes talking about my frustration in how they “acted”, but always with a heart for the team.
No one thinks that’s weird. In fact, it’s considered loyalty, passion, and tradition. It’s totally normal to devote time, energy, and money into being a sports fan.
But here’s the plot twist.
I’m not just talking about the Giants. Or the Warriors. Or the Niners.
I’m talking about the Backstreet Boys. I cheer for five guys on a stage the same way I cheer for nine on a field. I’ve followed their career like a franchise’s legacy.
I’ve traveled for shows, stood in line like it’s a ticket drop at the stadium, and screamed like someone just hit a walk-off. I know their stats: who sings what, who hits the high notes, who always brings the crowd to their feet. I know the tours, the setlists, the unreleased tracks.
I’ve made lifelong friends in the stands. And I’ve felt that same game day electricity when the lights go down and the music hits. Some people hold season tickets to every home game and think nothing of rearranging their lives for it.
They follow every player on social media, watch the press conferences, know the latest contract rumors, even the off-field drama. They can walk into any bar, party, or meeting at work and casually start listing stats from last season or last decade like it’s nothing.
And no one calls them weird.
No one raises an eyebrow or labels them obsessive.
That kind of commitment is admired. It’s normal. It’s even celebrated. But when women do the same thing for a musical group? When we follow the updates, know the lyrics, know the history, travel for shows, plan outfits, connect with fellow fans online, and dare to care deeply about something joyful?
Suddenly, it’s “psycho” or “cringe” or “grow up already.”
Being a fan is being a fan. It’s loyalty. It’s connection. It’s joy.
Whether you’re in the bleachers or the pit, wearing a jersey or a tour tee, screaming for a buzzer-beater or a harmony, it’s the same heart. So yes, I’m a diehard fan. Of baseball, basketball, football, and of music. And I’ll proudly rep my team, wherever they take the stage.