When I got back into football after not having paid attention through my ’80s adolescence, I decided to root for the Buffalo Bills, because I had friends who lived in nearby Olean, New York, and because I remembered them having an image so unglamorous not even OJ could make them interesting. Then they started going to Super Bowls and losing them, and then my friends in Olean—who spent their summers cleaning dorms at nearby Alfred University where the Bills had their training camp—started telling me nasty stories about players scamming on skanky underage girls and having to clean up the messes they made together. Yech.