I’ve never been a big football fan. I can think of several reasons for my pigskin passivity. For starters, I went to a high school that didn’t have a stadium until my senior year. Not that it mattered; our football team was terrible. Perhaps the poor athleticism could be attributed to the zoning: the majority of the student body was comprised of rich, spoiled preppies. Rich, spoiled preppies might be good at drinking games and wrecking the new sports car Daddy bought them, but they tend to play football as well as I breakdance. That’s not entirely true — I’m an excellent breakdancer. I’m just very modest.

College didn’t fuel my passion for football, mostly because my university had no football team. Most students are enamored with college football because there’s something empowering about cheering for your team and getting caught up in rivalries. I’ve never experienced this excitement, so I suppose I’ve missed out on a rite of passage. I also never built a treehouse or soapbox racer as a child. And my mom wouldn’t let me eat brownie batter out of fear of salmonella. Tragic, isn’t it?

When you combine this with the fact that Joe Namath once spat in my face while signing autographs at Sears, you can begin to understand my dislike for football. Oh, and a truck carrying a shipment of NFL footballs ran over my dog (who had neurological problems from being struck by a football as a puppy).

Living in Columbia and not liking football is like eating at Jack-in-the-Box every day but not liking stomach viruses. Everywhere I go, someone is proudly displaying “GO COCKS!” Out-of-towners must think Columbia’s collective mind is in the gutter. You see “COCKS” written more places than in a back alley in Amsterdam.

My wife and I used to spend weekends hanging out with friends. Here in Columbia, though, Saturdays are right out. I’ve invited friends over on countless Saturdays, only to be greeted with incredulous looks. “Today’s a game day! And a home game, no less! We’ve got season tickets, you know!” Sorry, I forgot. Cue more looks of disbelief.

I find this Gamecocks obsession particularly amusing considering that USC’s team isn’t all that good. Okay, I’m being polite. They pretty much blow. But you can’t tell that to a Gamecock fan - at least not without getting punched in the face.

Speaking of which, Steve Spurrier could punch a fan’s mother in the face, and the fan would probably tell Mom to step forward so Steve wouldn’t have to reach so far. The fans don’t put the players on a pedestal; it’s the coach they worship. I bet Spurrier hasn’t had to spend money on anything since he moved to town.

While Spurrier is the current god among mere mortals, I seem to remember a guy by the name Lou Holtz. Mentioning his name in front of a Gamecocks fan is a faux pas on par with mentioning your ex’s name in front of a new love. How many games will USC have to lose before Gamecocks fans gather their torches and pitchforks to chase Spurrier out of town? I’m sure there’s still some tar and feathers left over from Holtz’s departure. Yes, I know Holtz “retired” and left “on his own”, but I know quite a few USC fans who ended up cursing his name when he couldn’t turn it around for the Gamecocks.

I realize this article has probably made a lot of Gamecocks fans angry. I don’t mind that you worship this team and their all-powerful coach. I know I’m the new guy, so I should learn to like them or get out. But I can’t. It’s just too amusing.

I’m not a total cynic. Cheering for the hometown team brings this city together, as does the shared hatred for Clemson. Also, it’s strangely inspiring to see fans root for their team week after week even after games end with embarrassingly bad results. I may mock the team’s pathetic performances, but there’s no denying that their plucky spirit is admirable. I might have been vaccinated against Gamecock fever, but I suppose not everybody goes to my clinic.