Two weeks ago, I did not watch the final minute and thirty seconds of the AFC Championship. I couldn’t decide what would feel worse: watching Patrick Mahomes raise another AFC Championship Trophy, or seeing Josh Allen and Sean McDermott bow their heads in defeat as they crossed the field to congratulate the Chiefs on their way to today’s Super Bowl.

As Josh Allen fell launching a desperation pass on 4th down, my mother buried her face in her phone. When she finally looked up, her expression said everything: “not again.”

This is my first year as a Buffalo Bills fan, and it looks like I have some getting used to.

Finding Comfort in Sports

I’m in the process of applying to medical school. For those unfamiliar with the process, after submitting your applications, you enter a vast ocean of uncertainty—seven to eight months of waiting for interview invitations that may never come.

You can only refresh your email and bang your head against the wall so many times. Thankfully, sports has helped me pass the time. First, it was Shohei Ohtani, Freddie Freeman, and the Los Angeles Dodgers giving me an excuse to ignore the first round of interview invites. As October rolled around, the Dodgers’ playoff run gave me victories to celebrate when the interview invitations weren’t coming. As the holidays approached, the new-look Los Angeles Lakers became my salvation at family gatherings. Instead of fielding the dreaded “how’s the application process going?” I could steer conversations to LeBron and the Lakers. When my friends home from medical school visited, we could spend our nights debating playoff seeding instead of application strategies.

A Family Legacy

My mom Valerie spent her early childhood in Buffalo, living there from ages 2 to 10. For my grandfather Joe, a former quarterback who later pursued a doctoral degree in Poetry, love for football was non-negotiable. During their time there, a certain running back made history by becoming the first to gain 2,000 yards in a single season—before he became famous for other reasons. In their household, football became a religion.

As my sister and I came along, football shifted from Sundays to Saturdays, with UCLA becoming my introduction to the sport. The NFL remained at the periphery of my attention until this winter, when baseball season ended and the Lakers’ struggles left me searching for something new. On Christmas morning, I unwrapped my first piece of Bills gear—a fitted hat from my mom. Something clicked.

After each playoff round, Buffalo gifted me another week of hoping for Super Bowl chances rather than dwelling on dwindling interview prospects. Learning from “Locked on Bills” and “Cover 1-Down” introduced me to an online community far more welcoming than the often dreary and vicious pre-med world. More importantly, it gave my mother and me something to discuss besides my application status. The time we’ve spent watching the Bills this season has become some of the highlights of this year.

Before Sunday’s game, I insisted we watch “The Four Falls of Buffalo” to brush up on my Bills history. What I witnessed wasn’t masochism—it was something else entirely. It was a pure love for a team from a place that knows struggle. The Bills, like Buffalo itself, are tough, gritty, often beautiful, and always challenging. Much like living in Buffalo is difficult, being a Bills fan requires resilience.

The Price of Admission

That look of pain I saw on my mother’s face as the clock wound down two weeks ago was familiar—the same expression she’s worn through years of Bills heartbreak. We called a mercy rule before the final whistle, turning off the game and sitting in silence.

Leading up to this season’s conclusion, I worried about being labeled a bandwagon fan, questioning if I’d been here long enough to truly belong. Those doubts were quickly dispelled on Sunday. The Chiefs didn’t just defeat the Bills—they initiated me into the true experience of Bills fandom.

Unlike the Buffalo Bills, my medical school journey still has hope, albeit diminishing. But I’ve learned something valuable from becoming a Bills fan: defeat, pain, and suffering are the price of admission. Next year, destiny is calling. And I believe that both my Buffalo Bills and I will find success.

For now, I can truly join Bills Mafia in commiserating over another season of falling short. But like them, I’ll keep hoping, keep trying, and keep believing in better days ahead.