Leave me be

This Friday, I will be dressed in Rangers attire in the First Niagara Center to watch the blue shirts take on the Buffalo Sabres. While both teams fight for postseason berths, I am terrified - not of physical harm, but conversion.

I have been to one Sabres game before and in doing so, I embodied a Buffalo supporter for the evening. The environment was pandemonium and I had a great time hanging out in one of the last rows of the arena. This game, however, will not be the same.

I am the enemy. I am determined to not have my beliefs coerced by Buffalonians. If I don't stay alert, I may be trading in my pizza and bagels for beef on weck.

The Rangers have qualified for the playoffs six of the last seven seasons. This model of consistency is not one I am accustomed to from the teams I watch on my Long Island couch.

As a Jets fan, reliability is a foreign concept to me. One year, the quarterback is an old man who redefines the concept of "second thoughts,"followed by a new coach and a turn to the draft - only until we question the decisions of a three-year starter who played in two AFC Championship games. So New York turned to a higher power and confided in a wannabe pastor. However, the choirboy hardly even stepped on the field.

Now let's look at the Mets - a franchise with a certain level of consistency because I know they will break my heart year after year. Whether it's through on-field performances, such as playing great for months only to collapse at the very end, or one stupid offseason decision after the next, I can always rely on them to leave me questioning my life decisions.

And, of course, there's the Knicks. They have been successful this season, but they have recorded only one playoff victory in the past 11 seasons. And this postseason hasn't started yet, so how can I be sure this will be different?

Bottom line is: I need my Rangers.

I am sort of ashamed to admit I already have shown some vulnerability toward embracing Buffalo sports. My closet contains a Buffalo Bills sweatshirt, one of the warmest things I own. I wore it daily this past winter, as I battled the frigid weather, but I never felt any attachment to it aside from a snug fit.

What if this mentality all changes Friday?

I can't help but fear I will experience something in the arena to alter my life forever. What if I walk out engrossed by what the Bills do with their eighth pick, and not because of the impact it will have on the Jets' decision one pick later?

Another confession: I own a Sabres jersey. It was a Christmas gift last year from my father, probably to use as a defense mechanism and protection. I can count on one hand the times I have worn it, but it's there if I ever need it.

The crowd will be electric during this game. The Sabres have won six of 10 and are within shouting distance of the final playoff spot, currently being occupied by none other than my Rangers. The rowdiness of the crowd is something expected, which may be in my best long-term interest.

I almost hope someone takes a swing, connects and knocks me back. I need an awful encounter to make me realize I don't want to become a Buffalo sports fan. This type of encounter would beat some sense into me. Every Buffalo sports fan I know is just waiting for the next disaster.

The other scenario I envision is the City of Buffalo extending a welcoming hand to me after a Sabres victory. I don't know how much more losing I can take, but I know by looking at Buffalo sports history, the happiness will not last.

As evidenced by my other loves, I have endured enough anguish. Please, to any Buffalo sports fan who sees me at this game: yell at me. Call me names or make fun of my accent, I beg you. Let me keep this one quality team in my life.

Otherwise, I have nothing.

Misery loves company, but allow my happiness to remain for one postseason out of the year, while I suffer in solitude the other 11 months.

Email: owenobri@buffalo.edu