The Birth of a Miami Dolphins Fan

I just returned to South Florida after graduating from college, and my parents told me I've been getting phone calls from the Miami Dolphins.

Why would the Dolphins be calling me? Because I attended their bungling loss to the Ravens during the playoffs last year — my first NFL game in about seven years — and now I'm on their mailing list. The team is trying to sell me season tickets.

Representatives from the Fins call my house and ask for me, giving me reasons why this Dolphins team is one that deserves thousands of my hard-earned dollars.

They even sent me a nice piece of snail mail with a picture of the Dolphins celebrating, one of the players wearing a nice big "DREXLER" on his back.

When I was younger, I never would have imagined being hassled to purchase tickets to the games. No, when I was younger, Dolphins games — and Sundays in general — meant spending time with my father and watching Dan Marino huck balls down the field to Mark Clayton and Mark Duper.

That's how I became a Dolphins fan. It was a way my father bonded with me, and he had become a fan in his childhood as well. Though his family was able to afford season tickets back when the Fish were playing in the Orange Bowl (he even had tickets to the 1972 undefeated season), we couldn't attend the games nearly as frequently.

Still, the couch became all the grandstand we needed, and Dan Marino became my hero. By 1994, I had the entire roster memorized.

Names like Bernie Parmalee, Irving Spikes, Bryan Cox, Richmond Webb and even Pete Stoyanovich were doodled on my elementary school desk.

The Dolphins were also good back then, sometimes great, though never the greatest. But it didn't matter if they won or lost back then. All that mattered was sitting on the couch (or in the stands if I was lucky once every other year) with my father and witnessing Troy Vincent pick off another pass.

My mother couldn't be bothered to care about the Dolphins, and my brother never became a sports fan, so the Dolphins were something my father and I shared. He usually worked six days a week, so Sunday afternoons were the best time for us to catch up.

The Dolphins were a huge part of our relationship, and even while I was away at college, I knew I could call my house on Sunday night and (usually) discuss how greatly Miami had messed up that afternoon.

"We'll be better next year," he would always say.

I was never so confident.

But back in the early 90s, there was no pressure to buy season tickets, no worries about free agency and no stadiums named after second-rate beers.

Things were simple. Joe Robbie Stadium was Joe Robbie Stadium, and I was a fan to my core.