A Love Letter to Being a Football Fan

MJ Wynn
Nov 25, 2025
3 min read

If someone told me two years ago that I’d be writing a sappy love letter to football, I would’ve rolled my eyes so hard. I was the “I’ll never watch football” person — even after growing up around a family of hardcore Saskatchewan Roughrider fans. But then Super Bowl LVIII happened… or, more honestly, the last hour of it happened. One minute I was casually tuning in, the next I was sucked into something electric.

And now here I am, fully hooked — riding the chaos, the hope, and the heart attacks that come with this year’s Chiefs run. It’s wild, messy, terrifying, and somehow perfect.

My very first “game” was Super Bowl LVIII.

I didn’t even catch the whole thing — just the last hour. But god, did it feel electric. Yes, I was only there because of the Taylor Swift effect. I won’t lie. But it wasn’t her that hooked me. It was the game itself. The energy. The chaos. The feeling that anything could happen, and somehow it all mattered more than it probably should. That night flipped a switch in me, and by the time the clock hit zero, I wasn’t just watching football… I felt it.

Then came the 2025 season.

And listen — it has been a rollercoaster.

Being a fan means riding out the imperfect parts.

It means sitting with the stress of a 6–5 record and still believing there’s magic left.

It means watching fourth-quarter collapses with your heart in your throat but refusing to look away.

It means knowing the game will break your heart sometimes… and still showing up.

Somewhere between that first Super Bowl and this unpredictable season, football stopped being something I never watched — something I used to swear I’d “never get into” (even after growing up around a family of ride-or-die Saskatchewan Roughrider fans) — and became something I felt. The Chiefs became my team — not because they were flawless or dominant, but because they were human. Scrappy. Emotional. Trying. The kind of team you root for because you know what it feels like to have potential but still be fighting to get it right.

And that’s why I love this sport.

Not because it’s perfect.

But because it’s hopeful.

Football gives you something to believe in every week — something to look forward to, scream about, stress over, celebrate, grieve, and hope for all over again. It pulls you into community with strangers. It gives you a reason to pace your living room and whisper “please, please, PLEASE” at the TV like it can hear you.

It’s loud.

It’s messy.

It’s heartbreaking.

It’s thrilling.

It’s everything.

And even though this season is still in progress — even though it’s stressed me out more than my actual life at times — I wouldn’t trade it. Not the heartbreak, not the overtime anxiety, not the moments where Mahomes makes a play that reminds you why you believe in impossible things.

This sport, this team, this weird red-and-gold obsession… it’s become a part of me. It’s my comfort, my chaos, my reminder that even when things look shaky, there’s always another down, another drive, another chance to turn it around.