He finished breakfast, then stood up to leave the restaurant with his friends. As he was pulling on his jacket near our table, I spotted his 49ers t-shirt. Sort of a camel color with red print and logos.

I smiled up at him and said, “You are definitely the bravest man in this room.” Puzzled, and not sure about what I meant, he smiled tentatively. I quickly added, “Wearing a 49ers shirt in Steeler and Bills country is very brave.” He grinned and agreed.

“When I married her, my wife was a 49ers fan and she gives me these things.”

“Then you absolutely have to wear them,” I said. “Is she a California girl?” He nodded.

“Then, she’s excused, but you’re in mortal danger.” I grinned.

“I guess you’re right,” he said. “This area is like the Bermuda Triangle of football teams – from Buffalo to Pittsburgh to Cleveland. Everyone seems to be divided equally among the Bills, the Browns and the Steelers.” We both agreed it’s dangerous to root locally for a team outside the Triangle. As he left, he zipped his jacket up above the logo.

Our family fandom is also split, but it didn’t start that way. My late husband, originally from Rochester, was a dyed-in-the-wool Bills fan. Dear Richard, originally from Olean, is the same. So, it stands to reason that my children would be Bills fans, yes? When they were young, their father convinced them of the importance of Billdom. It stuck – for a while.

When my boy was four, he saw a Coke ad on TV. In it, Steeler “Mean” Joe Greene was limping and sweating in the tunnel, out of the game. The kid offers him his Coke which Joe finally accepts, swigging it down with one gulp. He thanked the kid by throwing him his towel.

Bart stared at that ad every time it came on, then firmly informed me, “That’s who I’m going to be when I grow up. Mean Joe Greene.” And the Steeler contingent took root in the family tree. He pretended to pull for the Bills watching with his dad, but not when they played the Steelers.

He has an older cousin, Tim, who did a similar thing, declaring himself a Brown’s fan within a Bills family.

As an adult, he became a season ticket holder, driving from Rochester to Cleveland for years. I guess you’re not a true disciple unless you risk your life on I-90 every other weekend in blowing lake effect snow on icy roads. Tim lives in North Carolina now, but his blood still runs brown.

And then there’s the New England contingent. It’s really hard to write about this… especially in this publication.

My daughter, Alix, went to Boston for college and stayed. She and her now husband became Drew Bledsoe and Patriots fans.

In 2000, the Patriots hired Bill Belichick and a 4th string quarterback, Tom Brady. Who could have that team in their backyard and not watch that excitement? Alix and her Ian became devoted, LOUD Pats fans. Shameful.

Every member of their family wore a Patriots’ players shirt on game day. They gathered in their den with a beanbag frog – colored as a Patriot. Immediately after each New England score, they sang the same song, tossing the victory beanbag around the room. Sorta fun to watch. During a Bills/Patriots game, it was nauseating.

Then, somehow, my grandson was converted by his Uncle Bart to Steelers fandom. He started by buying him a Steelers onesie as a baby gift, eventually keeping him in Pittsburgh jerseys. And so it began. Now there’s an ardent family duo that roots black and gold.

I try to be diplomatic. I root for either the Bills or Steelers and have anxiety attacks when they play each other. I came to understanding football very late, but I have a partiality that goes back 60 years.

I had my first taste of Bills frenzy early in my stewardess days. The first charter flight I ever worked was a Bills flight from Buffalo to Houston.

Jack Kemp, the quarterback, sat in a rear seat, quiet and alone, totally engrossed in a historical biography.

A few of the team members wanted to get to know us better. Much better. Two players were particularly persistent, but we had a savior. The great Cookie Gilchrist intervened, saying, “I think the lady said no,” as he looked menacingly at the pair. “She’d like us to sit down so we can have our lunch.” I coulda kissed him. I’ve never forgotten what a gentleman he was on that entire trip. Years later, I learned he was the only member of the team who never attended college. His mother did a really good job.

Every team has its heroes. Let’s just say it’s safe here in the Bermuda Triangle if your team wears brown, black, or blue – in good times and in the doldrums. (Go Bills!)

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.