I’m not an Arsenal fan. Fans blow hot and cold. I’m an Arsenal supporter.
I was a fan of Olivia Newton-John for a week or two, back in the day – when she urged me to get Physical with her, flirting at me, upside down, from between her shapely leotarded legs. I’m not a fan anymore. And I walked through the rain singing Erasure’s “Sometimes” after a particularly messy adolescent breakup. That song’s not on my iPod anymore. Doubt it ever will be.
Fans are fickle. They lavish their attention on whatever tickles their fancy in that moment. (SQUIRREL!) They give you their undying devoted love forever. Or for the half life of a Seaborgium-266 isotope. Whichever comes first.
I’m in it for the long haul.
Supporting something means carrying it around with you forever. Like herpes.