I get it. "We" are not a part of the team. We are rarely welcome on the field. We aren't in the union. We aren't invited to board meetings. We aren't the athletic trainer. We aren't even the freaking beer vendor. But we are a part of the equation. We are the customers. We pour in the money. We are subjected to the sponsor's message. We make noise when the opposing team is trying to hear. We shout obscenities at LaRussa. We are emotionally invested. Technically still not part of the team, but intellectually pistol whipping folks over this technicality is as played out as "Bill from Waukegan" bitching about how "our" offensive line sucks.
It is the equivalent of keeping rabbits out of your garden with a fully automatic assault riffle. You know what? Put up a fence. Put up a fence and keep you and all your precious little veggies in and let all the happy little dolts run around thinking turning their hats inside out makes a difference.
While there are few things in this natural world as creepy as college sports fans (myself included), it is my pleasure to use America's minor leagues to turn the technicality table. You see despite never paying a dime on tuition or spending a minute in class at the University of Wisconsin, because I pay state taxes, I am a Wisconsin Badger. And a Fighting Illini. And a Missouri Tiger. My drop in bucket eventually helps finance Bret Bielema's bidet and unlike the disposable income I spend on professional teams, this money's going out whether I like it or not.
This bleeds in to the realm or professional sports as well. When the Milwaukee Brewers wanted a new stadium, they didn't set up a collection from the players, execs and support staff, they went to the taxpayers. There are many five county residents that wish they weren't Milwaukee Brewers.
