“You’re going to post that one on social media for sure,” she said as I showed her the photo. What seemed as a trivial, childish thing in my mind was one of the most exciting things in all of life in my heart. As I sat in the rental, contemplating my next move, I said to myself, “No. One side of the stadium is not enough for me. I will take pictures of every angle I possibly can.”
As a Louisiana and Texas native, people always wonder how I became a Tampa Bay Buccaneer fan. It’s quite simple, really. I had history with them. My father took me to see them practice when I was a kid. According to him, I have a picture somewhere with Warrick Dunn. I don’t remember any of this, but it had to have played some part in my decision as I started to watch the NFL.
My scope of the NFL was very narrow, as I had no idea when the games came on, how long the season was, or who all the teams were. All I knew is that New Orleans Saints fans wore paper bags over their heads to the game, while Tampa Bay, who played them twice a year, had one of the toughest defenses in the league. I can only remember getting more excited about a Warran Sapp sack than an Aaron Brooks completed pass.
Fast forward to the next year, where Tampa Bay was holding the Lombardi trophy, demolishing the Oakland Raiders for their first Super Bowl victory. I was a fan for life. I had no idea Warrick Dunn wasn’t on the team and that Tony Dungy had been replaced by John Gruden, but I was a Tampa Bay Buccaneer fan for life.
As my knowledge of the business side of the NFL grew, I realized that most of the players I had come to love – Simeon Rice, Brian Kelly, Dexter Jackson, Dwight Smith, Michael Pittman, Keyshawn Johnson – they had to be replaced by more affordable players. Then, I got my first Madden game in Madden 2004 with Michael Vick on the cover. I spent many hours learning the importance of a playbook, a linebacker, a fullback, and money.
I remember playing home games in Raymond James Stadium, turning the volume up just so I could hear the famous pirate ship blast the cannons for a touchdown or field goal. Of course, as a fan, I had to hear the cannons fire seven times way more than three. Tampa Bay, in reality, was scoring less and becoming less and less of the monster they once had been, but you couldn’t tell me anything if you played me in Madden. I was going to hear the cannons fire.
Fast forward twenty years later. I had gone to a Houston Texans game. I had gone to a Dallas Cowboys game. I had been to plenty of the University of Houston games. I had seen more stadiums than I thought possible, but the main one, that Raymond James Stadium, had eluded me. Then, my mom invited me on a trip to Florida. I told her, “We have to go to Tampa,” and she didn’t deny me.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t football season. However, walking up to the gate, seeing the big, red pirate flags excited me. The palm trees dug into the sand, the large posters of Mike Evans, Lavonte David, and Vita Vea, and that mast stretching just high enough over the wall for me see, brought all those memories back in one moment.
I remembered the Joe Jurevicius game after his child was born. I remembered the Derrick Brooks interception to seal the game. I remembered Michael Clayton, Vincent Jackon, Mike Williams, Doug Martin, Josh Freeman, Gerald McCoy, Matt Ruud, Aqib Talib, Tom Brady, Devin White, Carlton Davis, and the touchdown-less shut out of the Chiefs. I remembered all the many faces I had come to enjoy watching, who all played in this stadium and heard the blast of the cannons. I could even hear Gene Deckerhoff shouting, “Fire them cannons!” My inner child wanted out. My brain wanted to keep it in.
“You’re a grown man,” I told myself. “These people don’t even know you. If you tried to walk in there, they’d escort you out. Calm down.” I have this habit of downplaying things. I told myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t allow too many things to move me or place me in my emotions. I had only reserved such experiences for death, marriage, and truly life-changing things. While that is useful more so than not, it was a hinderance in this moment.
I have spent 23 years of my life being a fan of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I have given them more dedication than many things in my life. Tuning in even when I know they’re going to get beat bad; listening to the radio as Deckerhoff mopes with me as the Bucs get punched in the mouth. I’ve stuck through a 2-14 season, the firing of Lovie Smith (yes, I almost quit the team over that), and through 2 Super Bowl wins. Last year, I witnessed them get beat by the Houston Texans with 43 seconds left to secure the lead. Yet, there was Tank Dell, behind the safety, for the loss. Their fans cheered. I was just happy I got to see my team in person for the second time in my life.
As I drove around that Raymond James Stadium, none of that matter. What matter was that I felt I had returned from a long time away. I was home. When a child returns home, shouldn’t we celebrate? I had seen this team practice when I was maybe 10. Now, I was 35. “Yeah,” I told myself, “Gone head and let that child out.”
I decided to showcase the biggest smile I could. Yes, it felt childish being that giddy. However, it felt appropriate. I was at Raymond James Stadium. I was at the field of my team. I was in the city of Tampa Bay fans like myself. Some people never get to see their team’s stadium or city. Some may never get out of their home town. I was blessed to travel halfway across a nation to do that very thing. Yes, I smiled big.
Not only did I smile, but I took pictures of every angle I could find on that stadium. I drove over to the practice field and took pictures of that as well. As this obnoxiously big, red pirate flag waved in the wind, my inner child waved back. It was so awesome!
Maybe one day, I’ll return in-season and watch them beat the Saints, Falcons, or Panthers to a pulp, all while the cannons fire all day long. The inner child in me wants to see it. The inner child in me wants to see a lot, and as an adult, I feel obligated to let him have his way.
Life gets too sorrowful, worrisome, busy, and troubling for me to not let myself enjoy the things that I’ve wanted to enjoy since I was a child. So, yes, mom, I will post the picture. I will show the world that I was one of the lucky, determined, and destined kids to not only become a fan of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, but one of the ones that was able to take a trip to see that good ole Raymond James Stadium. A kid’s gotta have fun sometime, right?
May this be the sign you need to pick a thing you’ve always wanted to do, and do it. Find that one thing you’ve wanted to do since you were a little boy or little girl, and go do it. It could be to dance at a ball, to see a play, to go to a game, to ride on a firetruck, to sound the horn on a train, or to travel to a different country. Get disciplined, get determined, and go do it. You have my permission to do it, and all you need is the permission of one person. Give yourself permission to be a kid sometimes. It’s fun. It brings out a big smile, and it warms your heart. We all need that from time to time. Keep the adulthood out. Fight for the children! Even the one living inside of you. Just this once, don’t grow up.
Blessings unto you,
The Novelist, Dario
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