There are few things more sacred in a man's life than his allegiance to sports teams. If you grow up on the south side of Chicago, you can curse out the priest. You can walk out on your family because you need to "find yourself." You can even vote Republican. But if you ever cheer for the Cubs, no one you know will ever speak your name again.

That's just how things are. Whatever team you grew up with is your team. I happened to come of sports fandom age in eastern Kansas in the mid-seventies. That meant I was a Royals fan. And those were good days. Three straight division championships from 1976 to 1978 followed by a World Series loss in 1980 and a championship in 1985.

Since then? Eh. But as I sit and write this, I'm wearing the Zack Grienke Cy Young t-shirt my parents gave me for Christmas. Quit on the Royals? Never.

I have switched sides on a rivalry, though. As I mentioned, I moved to Lawrence, Kan., when I was six. Much to the chagrin of my parents (K-State, '68), I became a raving Kansas Jayhawks fan.

As befits my general sports rooting record, the late 70s were the worst time in history to be a Kansas fan. The football team was terrible and the basketball team was generally mediocre. But I was a true fan. This persisted even after we moved to New Mexico. The 1986 Final Four loss to Duke (who lost to Louisville in the final) is still somewhat painful for me.

But as fate would have it, I decided to attend the University of Missouri--archrival to my beloved Jayhawks. This caused me no little amount of angst. Even in the spring of 1987, after I'd picked Mizzou, I rooted for Kansas one last time. And the Jayhawks lost. Maybe it was an omen.

I knew I'd have no problems rooting for Mizzou. Since I had been too young to quite understand the whole concept of a rivalry, I didn't hate Missouri with a passion. I just loved Kansas. But what would happen when Kansas played Missouri?

Missouri beat Kansas 19-7 just before Thanksgiving in my freshman year. I rooted for the Tigers in full voice, with no reservations whatsoever. I was ecstatic. I had no guilt and felt no residual worry about my past with Kansas. Maybe I was brainwashed. Maybe I have no conscience. Maybe both are true. But I embraced my turncoat status and never wavered.

Well, except for the basketball championship in the spring of 1988. I rooted for Kansas--against Oklahoma. Luckily, I wasn't the only person in my dorm who (kinda) rooted for the 'Hawks. Billy Tubbs (the coach of Oklahoma at the time) was much easier to root against than Larry Brown, believe it or not. But that was my last hurrah with the 'Hawks. And I didn't count the win as one of my personal "championships."

I have many minor "championships" in my resume. The Tampa Bay Storm won a couple of Arena Football titles when I was actively following them. The Carolina Courage pro women's soccer team won the championship the year my son Max was born. There's at least one more, but it must have been so minor that I've forgotten about it.

Still, a championship is a championship. I can give you chapter and verse on every Mizzou basketball regular season and tournament win for the past 23 years. These things count. They're important. Which is why you never turn on your team.

I haven't quit on the Royals, despite their lack of post-season play since winning the 1985 World Series. That, by the way, is one-half of my "major" championship haul. The other is the Carolina Hurricanes, the 2006 Stanley Cup champions. And that's where I'm in trouble.

I've always been fickle when it comes to hockey. I was a Penguins fan back in the late 80s and early 90s. I cheered as the Pens took home a couple Cups. When I moved up to Battle Creek, Mich., in 1993, I semi-transferred allegiance to the Red Wings. This wasn't a total shift, as the two teams play in different conferences and hadn't met in a Cup final until last season (and, for the record, I rooted for the Pens). But for a few years I was definitely a Detroit man.

When we moved to Durham in 1998, the Hurricanes were in the process of moving to Raleigh from Hartford (by way of a two-year pit stop in Greensboro). The Canes weren't much better than the Whalers had been, but they were local.

And then, in 2002, they made the Cup Final, getting crushed by the Red Wings. I attended one of the games in that final series, and I rooted for the Canes. I had officially shifted my allegiance. You'd think a Cup win (four years later) would cement it. I'd think so, too.

But the only hockey I can get here inside the Beltway is the Washington Capitals. Which happen to be--easily--the most entertaining team in hockey. They play end-to-end and don't worry if they fall behind by three or even four goals. They've got the firepower to come back. And they've got Alex Ovechkin, the most exciting player in hockey. Don't believe me? Check out Ovechkin's massive hit on Jaromir Jagr, which caused a turnover that led to Russia's game-winner against the Czechs in the Olympics. Oh wait. You can't see it. The IOC has claimed copyright. Bastards!

Still, I have to admit I'm rooting for the Caps this year. I'm not rooting against the Canes, though. Despite stellar play the last month or so, Carolina is way out of the playoffs. So we're not talking about a total betrayal. If the Canes do make the post-season and face the Caps, I'm not sure where my loyalties will lie. But that's a definite shift from where I was four years ago.

Go ahead. Call me a turncoat (Kevin, I can hear you already!). I'll take it. Just like a man who has lied about the paternity of his child and gone ahead and run for president anyway. In the annals of manhood, I think my betrayal probably ranks me a bit below John Edwards. My wife won't understand this, but then, she's spent twenty years making fun of my eternal optimism concerning the Royals. "Just root for the Yankees," she tells me. "At least they win." I always stare at her with incredulity. "Root for the Yankees? Don't you remember Chris Chambliss?" (For the record, she does not.)

What's that you say? Pitchers and catchers report this week? Maybe one more season suffering for the Royals will remove the stain of my hockey betrayal.

Yeah. And maybe John Edwards has a shot at winning a race for dogcatcher.

Jon Worley knows all the verses of the "rock chalk chicken hawk" chant. All are obscene, some sublimely so.