I've lived in the Twin Cities for three years now, enough to establish a sense of community. And I've never hesitated about telling people where I'm from.
Until now.
I grew up in the Philadelphia area. Worse yet, I'm an Eagles fan.
I didn't realize the depth of Minnesota's anger at my brethren until a few days ago, when I walked into Morrissey's, an Irish pub in Uptown. A few guys were discussing the Vikings-Eagles game and the notorious obnoxiousness of Philly's football fans. As I sat down, I overheard one of them say, "I've never seen a city with people so dedicated to being such jerks."
I waved. He looked my way. "Hi, Philly native here," I said, flashing a broad smile.
There was a moment of silence. He was a tall, baldheaded guy with a mustache, a local firefighter I later learned.
"So, are you proud of your people?" he finally asked.
Yes, I answered, I am proud. No, I can't justify every stupid thing ever done by a drunk Eagles fan. But I think the NFL benefits from having such a passionate, dedicated and idiosyncratic fan base, with working-class roots that run deep.