Indianapolis Colts: Fans Are Born, Not Made.

(Photo by Andy Lyons/Getty Images)

I heard a buddy of mine talking the other day about what turned him into a fan of the particular team he follows -- in his case it was the Bengals, and as you can imagine, it wasn't exactly a pleasant recollection.  That got me thinking.  Then I gave up.  Not because of adult onset ADHD, but rather because there was nothing there.  There's not a pinnacle moment in my life that "turned me into" a Colts fan. 

 I was born one.

 When the convoy of Mayflower trucks bound for Indianapolis departed Baltimore in the dead of night in 1984, my development had just reached the point where activities like soiling my diapers and sucking on a pacifier were now being replaced by a much more exciting existence as a walking and talking human being.

 I attended my first game in '87 -- a riveting preseason tilt against the Bengals -- and over the course of the next decade I faithfully cheered as the Colts failed to reach double-digit wins in a season.  My formative years were spent praising (and then quickly cursing) first round picks like Jeff George, Steve Emtman, Quentin Coryatt, Sean Dawkins, and Trev Alberts.

 I saw four coaches come and go, and watched as 11 different men lined up behind center in the starting quarterback role.   

 The defining moment of the era?  Aaron Bailey's near catch of Jim Harbaugh's Hail Mary pass during an improbable run to the AFC Championship Game in 1995.

 At the time, I can’t even say I was that disappointed the Colts didn't advance to the Super Bowl.  It would have been nice and all, but certainly not something I anticipated happening.  I was happy with the Colts simply being there, and content in viewing a dropped Hail Mary as a positive moment in the history of the franchise.   

 And I wasn't alone in that thinking.  The entire Colts nation -- small as it was in those days -- didn't know anything different.  Nine wins and a drunken-punchers shot at possibly making the Super Bowl was more than we dared to hope for. 

 And then came Peyton Manning and Bill Polian. 

 The next ten years were a polar opposite of the previous decade.  In the process of becoming one of the most stable franchises in modern NFL history, the Colts racked up numerous division titles, hosted playoff games, fielded multiple Pro-Bowl players, and of course, brought the Lombardi Trophy home to Indy.   

 And while it's only been 25 years since the team took up residence in the Circle City, I can honestly say that from the forgettable Don Majkowski to Floyd Turner combo to the record setting offensive unit currently roaming the sterilized turf of Lucas Oil Stadium, I've witnessed every peak and valley imaginable to any loyal fan of an NFL franchise. 

There is one moment though, one particularly gut wrenching moment, which I'd consider pivotal in making me the matured enthusiast that I am today.  

 The date was January 15th, 2006. 

 Most Colts fans have pushed the memory of that day deep into the recesses of their brain, never to be seen again.  Others tried, and succeeded, in drinking the events out of existence with a large bottle of whiskey immediately following the game.  I tried both -- believe me I tried -- but the calamity that was January 15th, 2006 is permanently imprinted in my mind.   

As good as the years between Manning's arrival and the start of the 2005 season were, there was something missing, and not just the obvious Super Bowl title.   

Despite winning 34-of-48 games since Tony Dungy's

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