For The Record- 12. Apr. 2025

'Cause I'm not living in the real world

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If you scroll far enough down my digital camera roll, you'll find a picture of my son, sweaty, looking right at you with a steely-eyed gaze. It's an instant of seriousness in a night full of euphoria.

He was celebrating with 50k plus fellow Bucks in Milwaukee after they brought the title home. Bucks in Six and all that. He and his buddies were as caught up in it all as anyone, and when Giannis and co brought the title back to the Cream City, they did the only thing they could do; they jumped in a car and went over. No plans and only a vague hope for parking (someone knew a guy who knew a guy—it worked, by the way). It was a rapturous, happy ending after years of teetering between being just a bit outside and mind-numbing mediocrity spent toiling away in an arena long past its sell date.

In a state as balkanized as WI, it's easy to fall into camps and glance askance as anyone who might not be on your side, but sports teams do well to bridge that divide. You're wearing green? Blue and gold? That's a great place to start negotiations from. I once ran into someone in the Caribbean who saw my shirt and sparked a conversation. It turns out he grew up about a block from where I now live. Milwaukee might be the big city, but this is still an incredibly small state.

I see these teams through the lens of a naturalized citizen, and sometimes, I modify my fandom with something like "adopted favorite" or "Badger by marriage." Full-throated rooting the same way a native might feels almost like cheating.