This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
It's complicated. That's always been the easiest way to respond, a simple deflection to inquiring minds. How does a kid from Morgan, Utah — raised in Tucson, Ariz., — come to support a St. Louis Rams franchise a thousand miles from the left coast?
The real truth: The Rams were pretty good when I was an adolescent searching for an NFL team to identify with. My parents were never much into professional football and Tucson is wrapped up in Arizona basketball year round — thoughts of the Cardinals in that era as distant as the I-10 drive to Phoenix.
When Kurt Warner, only a few months removed from bagging groceries, dropped back and let that football fly under the lights of the "Greatest Show on Turf," my imagination was captured. When Marshall Faulk danced out of the backfield, Torry Holt broke a play wide open and Isaac Bruce wrestled a catch away from a helpless defender, I was hooked.
St. Louis as home to the Rams is all I've ever known — they left Southern California when I was three — but that changed this week with the announcement that owner Stan Kroenke would uproot the team to return to Los Angeles, unceremoniously dumping Missouri in the process.
As the scenario of returning to LA became more and more likely in the past year, the positives were as plentiful as points in the "GSOT" era. California has always been one of my favorite vacation spots, a cheap flight away from Salt Lake City. My best friend and college roommate lives just 20 minutes away from the Inglewood stadium site. The beach, the food, the weather — all clear "pros" that the St. Louis "cons" could never match.
But as the announcement trickled out of the NFL relocation vote this week, my first emotion was mourning.
When the explosive offense commanded by Warner waned, the Rams reversed course into becoming one of the worst teams in the league. Missing the playoffs in every season since 2004, St. Louis has been a grim 56-119-1 since.
But that era also installed a bizarre sort of pride — or schadenfreude — that even if the Rams were a hapless NFL team, they were my hapless NFL team.
I remember cheering in the back corner of a Tucson sports bar as Steven Jackson rumbled for a 25-yard touchdown to beat the Detroit Lions in 2009, not to send St. Louis to the playoffs, but to rescue what would become a lone victory in an 1-15 season.
I caught as many Rams games as I could as a student at Arizona State University, proudly wearing my No. 8 Sam Bradford jersey or No. 81 Holt throwback jersey in a sea of Cardinals fans at University of Phoenix Stadium.
Along the way, I also found a group of Rams fans on social media that welcomed me with open arms as if I'd long been a St. Louis resident, sharing the collective catharsis that comes with a few snarky tweets after another Rams loss.
These are the people I've thought of with pangs of sadness this week, real life residents of St. Louis compared to my satellite self who are losing their team, fanhood and in some cases, livelihood, over the NFL's pursuit of greener pastures.
In my 15 years of supporting the Rams, I've been elated, depressed, excited, angry and lately, disinterested with the perspective that comes with being a sports reporter who's found athletes aren't the mythic figures you believe they are as a wide-eyed 10-year-old.
There's the potential to create new fan memories in Los Angeles, a much easier weekend trip to make to a city that I've always enjoyed. But there's also the lamentation of losing the only NFL identity I've known, and more importantly, the loss of a team that many of my Missouri-based friends hold dear.
How do I feel about the Los Angeles Rams? The answer now, just as it was in the beginning is: It's complicated.
Twitter: @BrennanJSmith