This Super Bowl Sunday eve, I can’t help but reflect on the full spectrum of emotions this postseason I’ve experienced as a fan. I saw my Chicago Bears defeat their division rivals, the Green Bay Packers, and then lose in overtime the very next week to the Los Angeles Rams in one of the greatest fourth-quarter endings of all time. I screamed and ran around the living room in joy as Caleb Williams delivered one of the most miraculous touchdown throws I have ever seen, as my daughter (too young to understand why daddy was acting so crazy) watched on in wonder. And as I sat back down on the couch and composed myself, allowing her to crawl up in my lap, I couldn’t help but take it all in and smile a little bit.
Why the smile? Because this story isn’t really about football. It’s about family.
Family ties and childhood memories often drive us to the maniacal passion that we have as adults—and mine goes back to my dad. Twenty-seven years earlier, I remember my dad yelling at the television (just like I do today) as the Cubs got destroyed in the 1989 playoffs by the Giants. My dad was my hero. If he was rooting for the Cubs, so was I. Period. The funny thing is, he wasn’t even a big Cubs fan. I won’t even get into who South Siders are “supposed” to be rooting for. But like many, his pride was rooted in seeing his city do well.
My brother and I would record games on the VCR so we could watch with my dad when he got home late from work. Yes, I said it: VCR. There were no smartphones or internet back then to spoil the game, so we’d watch with him, acting like we were seeing it for the first time. I was just happy to spend that time with my pops. Watching him show pride in his city left a mark on where my allegiance stood.
My dad died in 2014, and one of the ways I still honor him is by rooting for his teams. Some of our best moments were shared watching games in the family room of the house I grew up in. And now that I have a daughter, I think about that bond differently. My dad never got a chance to meet her, so this is my way of having them share a very special bond.
These memories are just a few examples of what sports can hold for families—how a team can turn into a tradition, and a tradition can turn into a bond. And I’m not the only one living that. I had the pleasure of speaking to two people who not only are celebrating their teams’ playing this Sunday, but also how their fandom was passed down as heritage.
New England Patriots Fan – Ross Scales
You’d think that Ross Scales is a true Inglewood, California, native. It’s D Smoke, Paul Pierce, and then Scales. He is a man known wherever he goes around town. You’ll see him driving his golf cart around Inglewood, waving to people like he is the mayor. The twist here is that he’s been a loyal Patriots fan for over 40 years.
Scales moved to Los Angeles when he was only five years old, which easily could’ve made him a Raiders or a Rams fan, but his family back home had other plans.
“My Uncle Skip. My Uncle Gary. My cousin Sheila. Whenever I went back home, they all made sure I didn’t forget where I came from,” Scales said. Watching the Patriots games together was almost like a way his family made sure that Scales kept his “New England card.”
Today, Scales continues that tradition, making sure that his family doesn’t forget where their football roots lie. Game day, traditions begin with an amazing brunch spreadand his wife and kids are always dressed in their “Sunday best” Patriots jerseys.
He’s turned his garage into his own little slice of Boston sports heaven with paintings of Tom Brady and Cam Newton lining the walls. When I pointed out that Newton wasn’t really known for his Patriots days, Scales was quick to remind me that it’s his house. And he’s right, he is “the mayor.”
Seattle Seahawks Fan – Angela Brooks
Angela Brooks is a die-hard, second-generation Seahawks fan of almost 50 years. Born and raised in Seattle, she spent 19 years in Chicago and now resides in Philadelphia—where it’s safe to say the locals don’t always love seeing Brooks bring Seahawks paraphernalia into the office, especially these past two weeks.
“Currently, in my office, there is a Seahawks flag up on the door. And last Friday, I was in head-to-toe Seahawks gear for Blue Friday,” Brooks said, explaining the Seahawks tradition of wearing blue on Fridays before each game. And there’s no bigger game than this Super Bowl Sunday.
Brooks’ love for the Seahawks started early. “I remember rooting for Steve Largent,” she beamed. She prides herself on still having his jersey in her closet—eager to pull it out sometimes to prove to people how long she’s been a fan.
Brooks’ connection to the Seahawks is unique in that she grew up with family around the games and the stadium. Her Aunt Tony and Uncle Laurence were season ticket holders and would take her to many of the games growing up. And her Uncle Maryland was literally a vendor at the Kingdome, the former stadium of the Seahawks.
“My uncle didn’t play about his job,” she said. “He worked Seahawks and Mariners games as his side gigs.” She added, “If they were handing something out at the game he didn’t want, you may actually get it.”
The Seahawks are a very big part of her family. But her love for the team didn’t start right away.
“My birthday is in August, right before football season started,” she said. “I remember getting my first Seahawks shirt from my dad or aunt,” claiming she wore it at first because she wanted to fit in—but today, she’d tell you her Seahawks fandom is a birthright.
“We have a family football group chat,” she added, laughing. “Our cousin Xavier almost got kicked out last week for being a 49ers fan.”
And that’s the thing about it. The game is the game, but the traditions we hold is the legacy.
As we approach Super Bowl Sunday, the game between the Seattle Seahawks and the New England Patriots will be settled at Levi Stadium in Santa Clara, California, but in our communities, the stories of Black legacies and traditions will keep going—passed down across generations, even as we call new cities home. There are a lot of miles between Seattle and Boston—3,045 to be exact—but what we want for our families isn’t so different. And tomorrow, football gives us another chance to sit with those traditions—and those memories—for one more Sunday.
