I was down in Bridgeport today watching the first Patriots game of the season with a friend. I was outside by my car, wearing my Wes Welker jersey, when a car slowed beside me and the driver rolled the windows down.
This is bad news. I'm in the part of Connecticut where there are more Giants fans than Patriots fans.
There's a big release of tension inside me when the driver asks, "Can you tell me where [some local street in Bridgeport] is?"
Still, I'm looking down at my Pats jersey, leaning against my car with its Massachusetts license plate. Somehow, I feel like it's obvious that I'm the wrong person to ask.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not from around here," I say.
The guy drives off.
Hey, worse things could happen. Sometimes in Bridgeport when someone rolls their car window down, it's because they want to shoot you.
