When I was 8 years old, I became a fan of the Buffalo Bills for no other reason than we shared the same name. Now that may seem like an arbitrary way to pick your favorite team, but when you grow up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, a city whose only sports team was the AHL affiliate for the Quebec Nordiques, you need to be creative.

Over the past 20 years, like all Buffalo fans, I have developed a tragic relationship with the Bills. A relationship that has made me question my arbitrary choice and even made me wish my parents named me Cowboy or Steeler.

When you grow up in a community with no NFL team, it is rare to find someone who has stumbled upon the same favorite team as you. As a child in elementary school, I was always the only Bills fan.

I remember making bets with my fourth-grade classmates about who was going to win the Super Bowl, my Buffalo Bills or the New York Giants. This resulted in an early lesson on gambling and more importantly on being a Bills fan. Imagine at age 10 having to ask your mother for $20 to pay off a gambling debt.

I wish I could say I learned my lesson, but like the Bills I went on to make the same mistake three more years in a row. That was a difficult time for any Bills fan, but to make matters worse I had to endure the teasing alone. I did not know any other Bills fans.

The trend continued in university. On game days I would wear my Eric Moulds jersey to meal hall proudly displaying my passion for the Buffalo Bills, secretly hoping to find someone I could talk to about the problems with the Bills secondary. However, all I got was the teasing that is typically associated with the team that lost four Super Bowls in a row, took out Doug Flutie in favor of Rob Johnson and hasn’t made the playoffs since 1999.

Things changed drastically for me on Sunday. As a lifelong Bills fan, I was able to attend my first ever home opener. It is difficult for me to explain what I was feeling as I walked toward the stadium. My arms became spotted with goose bumps and my heart was pounding out of my chest the way it did the first time I kissed a girl.

Growing up, it was always an event for me just to see someone wearing a Bills jersey. But now everyone I could see was donning the blue and red of the Bills. I was surrounded by thousands of strangers who were connected to me through a passion for the Buffalo Bills.

The camaraderie intensified when I entered Ralph Wilson Stadium. As I walked to my seats I was hugged and high-fived by a group of strangers. I had never met any of these people before, but we were all wearing Bills jerseys, and there was an understanding that although we had never met, we were Bills fans and we shared a history of heartbreak that makes us closer than any fan base.

The game went well for the Bills and was cemented by a touchdown by Terrell Owens late in the game. As he crossed the goal line, the stadium erupted. I looked at the crowd and saw 70,000 fans united in their unconditional love for the Buffalo Bills. I smiled, and for the first time in a long time I was happy my name wasn’t Cowboy.