It’s that time of the year again. Cozy sweats and hoodies. Cool nights. Pumpkin-flavored coffee… and beer, donuts, cereal, basically everything. And of course, the start of the NFL season.
The expectations for the Buffalo Bills — my beloved hometown team — are mixed. Sure, we’ve still got Josh Freakin’ Allen. But the defense has been revamped, Matt Milano is injured (again), Stefon Diggs is in Houston and the rest of our receiving core is young (albeit, hungry to prove themselves). Where this season goes is anyone’s guess, though the optimism around Western New York is as palpable as the smoky smell of a bonfire on a crisp September evening and as welcoming as a “Go Bills” greeting in any neighborhood grocery store.
Still, this year feels different. For personal reasons.
My father, a lifelong Bills fan, isn’t here to share in the optimism that comes at the start of every new season. He passed away in August, somewhat unexpectedly, at the age of 79. And it’s left a noticeable hole where his Bills fandom should be.
My father grew up in Buffalo. He graduated from the University at Buffalo. He married my mother here, and raised my older brother and a set of twins (my brother and I) here, too. Being a Bills fan was knitted into the fabric of our lives from the very first moment we could say, “Go Bills.” He was a season ticket holder for many years. Tailgated with the same group of friends. Taped every single game on a VCR and watched it back later that evening or the next day, win or lose. (That’s dedication.) He experienced every heartbreaking Super Bowl loss, even attending one in person. When my father retired in 2006, he left Buffalo for a town outside of Atlanta to be closer to my older brother (who had recently had kids) and escape the brutal winters (and taxes, his words) in Western New York.
While my father may have relocated physically, his heart always remained in Buffalo, and incredibly loyal to the Bills. He never so much as flirted with another team. As my other family members continued to move away, I stayed in the area. I became a sports writer and even wrote about the Bills for a bit. My father got a kick out of that. But his favorite thing about our football connection, above all else, was to travel up north for the Bills home opener every year. Sometimes my brothers would fly in, too. But mostly, it was just my father and me. We’d tailgate. See old friends of his. Walk to the stadium a little too early because he liked to see the teams warm up before we settled in with beers in our hands and watched our favorite team play — good, bad or ugly. After the game, he’d want to listen to the local radio guys, commenting alongside them as if he too was on the mic.
I lived for those moments, for those games together. Looking back, I can’t even remember most of the outcomes, whether the Bills won or lost. What mattered most was spending time with my father. The laughs, the conversations, the familiarity of him being back in his hometown, the camaraderie, and our father/daughter connection meant so much. Every time I picked him up from the airport, a warm buzz of nostalgia snuck in and stuck around until the very moment I dropped him back off. Then poof, it was gone.
Sadly, a few years ago, my father stopped being able to come back for the Bills home opener. A bout with lung cancer and increasing complications with COPD made it too hard for him to travel. So instead, we’d text our way through games in a family group chat as the season unfolded. Needless to say, it wasn’t the same. Not even close. But it sufficed and kept us connected. I continued to fly or drive down to Atlanta as often as I could to see him. The last time I saw my father was in early July. We didn’t talk much about the Bills. It just didn’t seem that important. We watched episodes of Seinfeld and laughed. When I left, I hugged him harder than I had in my entire life. He passed away a month later.
Now, September is here. The Bills season is upon us. And my father’s memorial is this weekend. I’ll be in Atlanta once again, celebrating him and his life with my family and friends, as the Bills get ready to face off against the Arizona Cardinals.
I knew there would eventually come a day when the Bills season would kick off without him. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. How fitting that we get to spend opening weekend together, one last time.
Go Bills.
