I'm a 31 year old native Californian, and for over a third of my life I have devoted myself to a team playing 5000 miles away. How many times have I explained to passersby why "Zola" is written across the back of my jersey? Or why I'm wearing this crazy blue shirt, anyway? For years I persevered as our team struggled to consistently crack the Premiership elite. I made my pilgrimage to Stamford Bridge in 2001, and slunk away without even witnessing a Chelsea strike in a lackluster 1-nil defeat to Charlton. But I kept faith that one day everything would come together. And since the summer when I first heard the name Roman Abramovich, I've bid farewell to old heroes and watched new ones emerge. I've reveled in the puzzled stares of my non-footie savvy coworkers as I roared in ecstasy when Wayne Bridge scored the winner against Arsenal in the Champions League. I've savored my first live blues goals while following Chelsea around the country on its US summer tour. I've watched my first bit of Arjen Robben magic and wondered, "Does this wunderkind really play for us?" I've wept tears of joy at our first league title in 50 years. And I've tirelessly defended our club from its many detractors during its slips on and off the pitch. Be it scraping the bottom of the third division or filling the Stamford Bridge trophy cabinet, this yank will always see the world through blue colo(u)red glasses.
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