Sports are nothing until they are everything. I’ve experienced that feeling all too many times during my 26 (and counting) years of existence on this planet. And last Sunday night, I felt that feeling creeping back up on me as I watched Brock Osweiler lead the Broncos offense down the snow-covered field at New Mile High Stadium. Suddenly the game became bigger than just a game and that was absolutely due to the unhealthy amount of emotional investment I had in its outcome.

But over-investing emotionally in the Broncos is nothing new for me, as I’m sure anyone from Denver who grew up cheering for the Broncos can relate to. Sports are the Hail Mary of emotional highs. It seems when nothing else in life goes right, I instantly put whatever hope I have left into the Broncos to bail me out of my impending doom of emotional instability. Here’s why…

You see, my Dad was at the first Denver Broncos game back in 1960 at Bears Stadium (before it was Mile High, the first Mile High that is). On that day, Frank Tripucka led the Broncos to a 31-14 victory over the Oakland Raiders. My Grandpa took him. That’s just what you do in Denver. If you are from here, you know that the unspoken commandment is to bring up your children according to the Gospel of Orange and Blue.

Colorado might have the mountains but Denver has the Broncos, and the Broncos aren’t a team – they’re a way of life.

Most children get bedtime stories featuring tales of Peter Pan, Superman or, these days, whatever is on Netflix. Not me though. Dad tucked me in every night and recounted Broncos games from the ancient days. I heard about the Broncos becoming the first AFL team to beat an NFL team when they defeated the Detroit Lions in an exhibition game at the University of Denver’s football stadium. I heard about Tom Jackson telling John Madden that “It’s all over now fat man” in the 1977 AFC Championship Game at Mile High. I heard about the Broncos trading for a cocky surfer boy from California named John Elway. And, of course, I heard about “The Drive” in Cleveland.

I didn’t realize then but I realize it now: My Dad wasn’t sharing these stories merely for the sake of telling me these stories. No, it meant far more than that to him. Dad was trying to bond with me like his Dad had tried to bond with him. Some kids bond with their fathers over working on trucks, or fishing, or, Hell, some kids never bond at all with their old man. Luckily for me, I bonded with Dad over the orange and blue.

It is a bond that still lasts to this day.

And that’s what makes sports so funny. I can’t explain it but sports are more than sports, and you’ll either get that or you won’t get it. If you get it, you get it. And if you don’t get it, well, sorry.

One of the first times I ever saw my Dad cry was after the Jacksonville Jaguars upset the Broncos on January 4, 1997. I was seven years old that day. I remember wearing my Elway jersey and being in shock while my Dad was unconsolable. Why does a grown man cry over a football game?

Well, I wondered the same thing on January 13, 2013 after I found myself with misty eyes after Justin Tucker of the Baltimore Ravens nailed a field goal on the first play of double overtime to upset the Broncos in the playoffs.

It had all come full circle.

Suddenly, I was the grown man crying in a room full of transplants who didn’t get why the Hell two guys cared so much. Who else in that room cared so much? That other guy would be my Dad. No surprise there.

It wasn’t necessary for Dad to tell me about the Broncos upset of Green Bay in Super Bowl XXXII on January 25, 1998 in San Diego. Thankfully, I got to watch that with him. I was a little guy, literally and figuratively, but I remember seeing in Dad’s eyes how badly he wanted the Broncos to win that day.

All of the stories about losing seasons and blowout losses in past Super Bowls came rushing back to me. It wasn’t even about football anymore. I just wanted the Broncos to win because I knew how much it would mean to my Dad and them winning would make me happy because he meant so much to me.

And when John Mobley knocked down Brett Favre’s pass on fourth down, I’ll never forget dad lifting my older sister and I into the air much like John Elway was raised into the by his teammates a few moments later. I was hooked on the Broncos that night.

Like I told you, sports are nothing until they are everything.

Dad took me to me to a Broncos game for the first time on September 30, 2001. Baltimore defeated Denver 20-13 on that afternoon. I’ll never forget walking out of the stadium with Dad telling me that he regretted not taking me to the old Mile High because the new Mile High wasn’t anything like the old one. I was just disappointed the Broncos had lost. After all, going to the game was a birthday present.

Disappointment. That’s what I felt that day. It sucks to care.

Over the years, I’ve been at New Mile High when special moments happened. Moments like the Broncos beating the Raiders on Monday Night Football in 2003, or the Broncos dismantling the Chiefs 49-29 in 2010. Tim Tebow leading another improbable comeback against the Jets on Thursday Night Football in 2011 and Matt Prater kicking an NFL record 64-yard field-goal against the Titans in 2013.

Those stories and many more will be the stories that I’ll one day tell to my son. And, who knows, I might even tell him about Brock Osweiler leading the Broncos back from 14 points down in the fourth quarter to beat Tom Brady and the evil New England Patriots.

Whether it was Elway beating his former head coach Dan Reeves in Super Bowl XXXIII or the Seattle Seahawks dismantling the Broncos and their record-setting offense in Super Bowl XLVIII, I’ve seen it all with my Dad.

As the years have gone on I’ve began to enjoy (or not enjoy) the games with an ice cold Coors Banquet in my hand. Nevertheless, win or lose, the Broncos and Dad have always been there.

I’ll be at Qualcomm with Dad tomorrow.

We got tickets to the game back in August. Long before Peyton got hurt and Brock became the great white hope.

You see, the Broncos aren’t just about one guy. It’s much deeper than that. In a odd way the Broncos are there, regardless of anything else. You know they will be on the field every Sunday during the fall. You count on them.

And if the truth be told, I’ve come to realize that’s why a stupid football game matters so much to me. It’s because that game isn’t just about the Broncos.

No, it goes much deeper than that.

Deep down, I think I’m still that little kid watching his Dad get overcome with emotion as John Elway lifted the Lombardi Trophy over his head for the first time ever on that January night.

Yes, I think that I get it now.

If you were to ask me what I thought, in that moment, Dad remembered freezing in the nosebleeds at Bears Stadium watching the Broncos lose to the merciless Hank Stram’s Kansas City Chiefs. On that night, all of the suffering became worth it because he, finally, experienced the ultimate of fandom.

One great moment is able to cleanse 1,000 terrible ones. Maybe that’s why all of us care so much. Because when all else has failed us, we give everything that’s left of us to the one thing that never left us.

As I get older, I become more and more aware of the need to enjoy the now because it is the present of life.

Enjoy the here and now of being a Broncos fan. Remember each special moment and the people you shared them with. You’ll look back and see that the memories of being a Broncos fan are only precious because of the people you shared them with, like anything else in life.

Sports are nothing until they are everything. I know this to be true because I’ve lived it, with my Dad.