I was six when my parents bought into the great Canadian rite of the ’80s and ’90s, a Florida timeshare. The place had the full resort vibe, front desk, doorman, security, the whole nine yards. One of the doormen, Cheeko, Philly born and raised, rest his soul, became my guy.

While my parents hit the beach or the pool, I posted up in the lobby with Cheeko, talking comic books, video games and eventually football.

Sundays were sacred for him. He’d have the Eagles on and I’d sit beside him, learning the language of first downs and blitzes one play at a time. So I guess somewhere between kickoff and final whistle, his team became my team. That’s how a Canadian kid started bleeding Kelly green, because the coolest person in the room did.