Call me crazy. Or even worse, call me insane.

Entering FedEx Field with a Giants jersey on, I must have been asking for it. The heckling started before we even arrived onto Redskins Drive. People did double-turns when they saw a blue jersey in a car driving towards the game.

Even if the car had an occupant with a Redskins jersey and a Redskins flag on the passenger side.

The worst heckling I got was from a Nissan Maxima filled with college-age students. “Asshole” was the least vulgar of their preferred vocabulary for me.

Then I saw a car with a bunch of Giants fan. I felt better. Only a little.
We parked in the orange zone, having arrived to the game an hour before it started. Which amazed me because the first game we went to, we missed the entire first quarter. This time, we took a short cut and arrived ahead of the mass exodus on 495. Here I am, in my Giants jersey, walking towards FedEx. 96% of the fans walking or tailgating were burgundy-clad. The other 4% were like me — G-men.

We went to our first Redskins game last year, an October 31 match vs. the Green Bay Packers. The Redskins got a whupping. I noticed the crowd ambience and it wasn’t good. I guess the fans have something up their asses. They look like they don’t want to be here.

I expected this game to be similar, but there was the feeling of upset in the air. The Giants were playing for the division title. The Redskins had to win this game to stay alive in the playoffs. They were going for their fourth straight win. And it was Christmas Eve.

We arrived to our seats in the club level, right below the suites. Only moments later, our seat-mates arrived. It turned out to be none other than the venerable Frank Turk, Sr., and his son, Frank Turk, Jr.

Great. Three Redskins fans to content with. One row down was a row of Giants fans, so I was “protected.”

The Redskins scored first. The stadium rocked. The Giants scored soon afterwards and then kicked a field goal. I whooped and cheered. 10-7. In your face.

Then the mistakes started. I admit it. The Giants stink on the road. They’ve only won 4 games on the road. But with each Redskins touchdown or Giants punt, the stadium just kept getting louder and louder.

Maybe they’ve had too much spiked Egg Nog. But, I could finally see, with my own eyes, what it means to be part of the Redskins Bandwagon. A former teacher colleague had a bumper sticker with that moniker on it in her classroom. I always scoffed at that because the Redskins were going through their playoff and coaching drought.

But this time, I finally saw what it means to be a burgundy and gold clad worshipper of the team. I admit, I wanted to leave the game. My team was down by 11 points. I wanted to be with my daughter on Christmas Eve. No sir, the wife insisted. It was Christmas Eve, her team, her victory. I let her bask in the glow.

Until the last second ticked away, I kept seeing heckling. I decided to play it cool, observing their jersey pointing or pumped fists with an obligatory tip of my Giants hat. Hey, I respect your team’s victory – respect my team. They returned the tip.

Maybe staying until the end of the game was a mistake. We walked to our car, ready to eat our warm leftover Christmas Eve dinner. We paged the family: We’ll be home in about an hour.

Two hours later, we were only 25 feet from where we had left our parking space. The parking lot became a serpent of red lights. Around us, Redskins fans were eating tailgate food, drinking brewskis, and just blaring music out their stereos and dancing in victory.

So, this is the Redskins Bandwagon. Not bad…I’d sure love appreciating this kind of atmosphere around here for my team.

As I was sitting in the car thinking: Maybe it’s not so bad to be a Redskins fan.

But that doesn’t mean I will give up the Giants. Never.

After all, there is such a thing as rooting for two hometown teams.