2:15 PM EST, February 7, 2013
Sitting in a living room in Queens, New York, I like so many others held my breath during the final seconds of Super Bowl XLVII between the Baltimore Ravens and the San Francisco 49ers ("Staying power," Feb. 4).
I, too anxiously watched the final kick and simultaneously glanced at the diminishing seconds and the final play, and I sighed with relief as the seated Ravens jumped up and ran onto the field with raised arms.
Earlier in the evening, I had yelled at my dad, mostly in jest, when he started rooting for the 49ers — not because he was any kind of die-hard 49ers fan, but because the Ravens were crushing them and my dad pitied the team.
When the tables suddenly turned, I yelled at my dad: "Look what you've done!" — surprising myself with the depth of my emotional investment in the Ravens. I am so far from being any kind of football fan I don't even know all the rules or technical terms for the game.
I am, however, a New Yorker who considers Baltimore a second home after having lived there for the past four years while I attended school. And despite the surprised eyebrow lifts and questioning eyes I receive when I say this to people who either have never lived in Baltimore or for whatever reason just dislike the place, I am a fan of Charm City — and in some strange way that translates into being a fan of the Ravens, too.
Jessica Yoo, New York
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