I fancy myself an avid fan of the Chicago Cubs baseball team. As a child watching them on WGN, I grew to recognize the voices of Steve Stone and Thom Brennaman as well as that of my own mother's. If it were possible, I would have Harry Caray officiate my wedding.

I was once removed from a Kansas City Royals game because I chose to spend a rain delay on top of the Chicago White Sox dug out screaming at Ozzie Guillen; not because of my love of Alex Gordon or any of the other Royals (ok, maybe Cookie Rojas), but because, like any good Cubs fan, I loathe the "bad guys" from the South Side.

My answer to the "if you could have lunch with anyone in the world, living or otherwise" is: Jesus of Nazareth, Dennis Miller, and Andre Dawson.

That being the case my initial surprise a couple weeks back, while milling around Denver's Blake Street en route to watch "my Cubbies" take on the hometown Colorado Rockies, was of the pleasant variety. I wasn't surprised that the Cubs produced a large following when visiting an opponents ball park. I was surprised that this outpouring of support for an opponent happened in Colorado.

This is a state whose two most prevalent bumper sticker messages are: "NATIVE" and "Go Back to California and take a Texan with you." So while the Cub's ability to draw a road crowd is no secret, I thought that Denver may be an outlier, and "keep it real,"...errr "keep it native."

I understand that the weekend's series had wild card implications, but I just can't imagine that Ed from The Bachelorette packed his SUV full of Lincoln Park Trixies and headed to Coors Field for the weekend, and to my knowledge, the Blue Line on "The L" doesn't go West of O'Hare, (so that train that stops outside of Denver's Union Station is more than likely filled with Tech Center residents than people from Skokie). All of that said, I found it a reasonable inference that the majority of the individuals in Ryne Sandberg Jerseys hailed from the Mile High City, rather than the home town of Rod "the 'F-word'" Blagojevich.

Further, I realize the sizable amount of families and individuals who pack up and move to the Mile-High every year (Denver found itself on both Forbes and CNN's lists of Top 10 cities for college grads). And Cubby Fanaticism is rampant, rivaled only by that of the nations of Yankee and Red Sox, but shit, when one asks a person in Denver, "Where are you from?" if the person is not a native, they don't respond with "I'm from Connecticut," they respond with how many years they've lived in Colorado (seriously, try it if you're ever in town... it's awesome).

The fact that these same Rhode Islander's would give up their entire trust fund for a birth certificate from St. Anthony's Central, or Texans that say things like "well I'm technically from Dallas, but Longmont is home," would throw on a Greg Maddux jersey and loudly insert "Cubbbies!" for "home team" when singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch, is to me, as tragically ironic as a "golf pro's 'n' tennis hoes" themed bar crawl in the Hampton's.

It wasn't all bad, though. I enjoyed having fellow Cub brethren around; less people to remind me that I'll never live long enough to see them win a World Series (misery loves company, right?). And I loved seeing Kerry Wood and Mark Prior jerseys (the only one missing was that of Shawon Dunston), especially because those jerseys were, in all likelihood, covering up a significant amount of shirts within eyeshot that said things like "Legalize LA" or "Music is my weapon." - I can't stand douchebags.

In typing this from the perspective of a non-native Cubs fan, I'm sure that, to some, I seem about as hypocritical as Rick Pitino writing an article on safe sex and fidelity, and I must admit it has left me more than a little conflicted. As I try to do in times of confusion, I've looked to a higher source for a bit of guidance:

When visiting the Mountain Oasis of Crested Butte, Colorado last Spring, I entered a boat race. I should clarify: I didn't actually man a boat, but I was day-drinking in a bar and people started bringing in these miniature vessels that they claimed to be sea-worthy and informed me that there was a "boat race" scheduled to take place in nearby, overflowing creek.

Wanting to interact with the locals, I quickly poked a bunch of holes in a upside down, cardboard Pabst Case, stuck a bottle in the middle of it, and entered the contest (I also drew a large "M" on the side, and proudly christened the soon to be sinking ship "University of Michigan football." The honorary captain, in absentia, was of course, Rich Rodriguez.).

While I made my ship intentionally un-sea worthy (I wanted to participate in the event, but it was much more preferred to stand and drink beer than chase my ship down the creek), there were many vessels that would have made both Captain Ahab and Steubing proud (I'm still convinced that one was a Somali pirate ship). But one ship, in particular caught my eye.

The thing was immaculate; It had modified PBR cans for buoyancy and ballast, and was covered with bright red tape. There was also a toy monkey aboard the vessel. But two of the ships features stood out above all the rest. The first, an action figure of my main man, Jesus Christ, standing on the bow of the ship, ala Leo in Titanic; the second, directly under his outstretched arms, a bumper sticker that read "Not a native...but I got here as fast as I could."

...even Jesus wants to be a native. Wherever you were born, not a bad place to call "home."