Maybe it was my father who was the outlier, though I couldn’t know it at the time. For around the first 15 years of my existence, I didn’t know from intramural rivalry as it applied to New York City. If you had that name on your jersey, sweater or tank top, that was good enough for him.
This day stands out today as clearly as if it happened 15 minutes ago: Nov. 22, 1981. Sunday was a pretty easy ritual in my house, week after week after week: 11:15 Mass, breakfast at the Lantern Diner, home by 1, and seven straight hours of football.