What are the rules of fandom?

It’s possible that this isn’t all that big of a deal.

It’s just a shirt after all.

A T-shirt, in fact. Royal blue with a white Nike swoosh.

The words “New York” are printed in orange and white, the No. 11 and “Brunson” are printed on the back.

This shirt, which I donned last week, is the first time since I moved to New York that I’ve worn something that would affiliate me with one of this city’s teams.

I feel somewhat conflicted about this.

On the one hand, I’ve lived here for six years, and the Knicks are the one team that the entire city roots for. These people are so hopped up after last night’s game that some fools in my neighborhood were chanting “U-P-S!” as a delivery truck drove by.¹

On the other hand, I understand that I’m hopping onto the bandwagon to a certain extent. I got goose bumps when OG Anunoby tipped in the game-winner on Wednesday night, an involuntary reaction to the excitement I felt in that moment.

So, what are the rules and regulations regarding sports allegiances? 

Joe Queenan wrote a wonderful book about fandom, which is titled “True Believers.” In it, he declared that when it comes to professional franchises, you are allowed to root for: 

a)     The team in the closest geographic proximity to where you grew up;

or

b)    The team your father rooted for.

It has always been a little bit more complicated for me.

Some of this is because I spent the first 15 years of my life in Oregon, a state whose only professional franchise is the Trail Blazers. And because I was born in Klamath Falls, on the southern border of the state, we were as close to the Bay Area as we were to Portland. We went to California at least two, often three times a year. I didn’t go to Portland until I was in seventh grade.

Also, my Pop didn’t really like the NBA.

His friend, Jim Dobey, did, though. He took me to an NBA preseason game back in 1986, the Warriors playing the Blazers up at Oregon Tech’s gym. For years, I told people I became smitten with the Warriors when I saw a 7-foot-6 Manute Bol hoisting 3-pointers in warm-ups. Except Bol didn’t join the Warriors until 1988, so it must have been something else that piqued my interest in Golden State. Perhaps it was the fact that their star guard, Eric Floyd, was nicknamed “Sleepy.”

In 1990, my family moved to Santa Cruz, which is close to the Bay Area, but not actually part of it, as Marshawn Lynch once explained to me. “BART don’t even go there,” he said. This is true. 

The Warriors actually had things rolling back then. Tim Hardaway, Mitch Richmond and Chris Mullin, the Run TMC squad, upset the No. 2-seeded San Antonio Spurs in the first round of the 1991 playoffs.

In the 21 seasons that followed, the Warriors would qualify for the postseason exactly three times and win only one series.

But there is honor that comes from remaining a fan of a sad-sack franchise. Plus, no one will ever accuse you of hopping on a bandwagon.

When I moved to Seattle in 1993 to enroll at the University of Washington, the Sonics were the league’s hot young team. They were explosive with Gary Payton and Shawn Kemp, and combative with George Karl.

I watched the Sonics avidly. I wanted them to win, but I also knew they weren’t my team. I never bought a Sonics hat or a T-shirt. I didn’t grow up rooting for them.

In 2002, I took a job covering the Sonics for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, and professional decorum demanded objectivity. I was an invested observer, but still not a fan.

In fact, it wasn’t until after the Sonics left town that I began to consider myself a Sonics fan. 

I can even tell you the day I came to this realization: June 19, 2016. That was when Cleveland defeated Golden State in Game 7 of the NBA Finals. The Cavs rallied from a 3-1 deficit to beat a Warriors team that had won an NBA-record 73 games in the regular season.

I was bummed. I was also impressed mostly by Lebron James’ pterodactyl-like block of Andre Iguodala’s attempted lay-in, but also Kyrie Irving’s clutch 3-pointer.

I also realized that the disappointment I felt in that moment was outweighed by the happiness I’d experienced when the Warriors had erased a 3-1 deficit to the Oklahoma City Thunder in the previous round of the postseason.

I knew in that moment that I hated the Thunder more than I liked the Warriors.

My hatred for the Thunder was—and still is—rooted in my recognition that the team had been stolen from the city I consider home.

WHEN the Sonics come back, they will be my favorite team. I have a hat, a T-shirt and a beautiful satin Starter jacket, all of which I’ve purchased in the years after the team relocated.

I also have this Brunson T-shirt, which I’ll wear in the meantime. Occasionally. Perhaps only when I’m traveling outside of New York. 

While I’m cheering for the Knicks, I don’t think I’m really a Knicks fan.