I can respect Green Bay's unwillingness to cede TitleTown to any other city. Imagine Padres Nation? Some things just belong together like (Fenway Franks and beer, Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen, Robert Parish's fist and Bill Laimbeer's face). But the facts are Boston deserves the moniker. The Red Sox currently own the title World Champions. They have won two of the last four World Series. The team's 2004 trophy shines just as bright as it did on October 27 of that same year. And we can't forget 1903, 1912, 1915, 1916 and 1918. The Patriots have been a force on the field winning three Super Bowl titles in six years. The Celtics, a team with a dazzling championship history (16 total Championships), are dominant and exciting once again. And the Bruins have earned their share of Stanley Cups (five to be exact). Yet all of those trophies and big game wins tell just a part of Boston's rich sports story. Boston is more than TitleTown. Boston is the Best Damn Sports Town Ever. For Bostonians, being a Red Sox, Celtics, Bruins and Patriots fan isn't a choice. It's an inheritance. Our children root for our teams because we do. We are fans because our parents are and because their parents were. Local families pass down sports traditions like Catholics pass down guilt from generation to generation. My strict parents raised my siblings and me to be good students, devout parishioners and respectful in our actions and language. (Damnit and stupid were considered four letter words.) But there were several occasions when it was not only okay to break the rules; it was expected. When the Red Sox and the Yankees played a day game during the 1978 pennant race, I risked my eternal soul and missed catechism class to watch. Sadly that playoff series didn't go well and afterwards my family, along with the rest of the city, were frequently overheard referring to Bucky F***ing Dent. Because everybody knew, "Yankees Suck." In high school, I didn't need permission to skip school and take the train into the city for Celtics Pride Day. Not only did my mother condone it, she bought green banners for my friends and me to wave during the parade. And in college when I came home drunk one Saturday night slurring the words, "Squish the fish," my parents turned a blind eye and a deaf ear. That's just how it is in Boston. Critical games, rolling rallies, opening days and ring ceremonies all carry with them the expectation that children will miss school, employees will call in sick and the city will grind to a halt. Our teams come first. Other Americans can tell you where they were when terrorists attacked the World Trade Center and John F. Kennedy was shot. Bostonians respect and remember those events too. But they also remember their precise whereabouts when Havlicek stole the ball and another ball passed through Bill Buckner's legs. Most Boston fans can also give you a blow-by-blow account of the time Larry Bird stole the ball, Carlton Fisk hit his Game 6 home run, Bobby Orr scored "The Goal" and Pedro Martinez threw down Don Zimmer. See, in Boston we're not in the game just for the highlights and the glory. We are sports fans no matter what happens. Other towns have their beautiful stadiums with retractable roofs. They have celebrities sitting behind the benches. Bostonians however were just as comfortable cheering from the wooden seats in the Garden as we are to watch from the luxury boxes at the Fleet Center. I have sat in the old Garden while pigeons flew by my face, the lights went out, the ice melted under the parquet and a film of condensation formed on the court. I watched the Celtics play the Hawks when the only player's head I could see was Spud Webb's because the seats in front of me obstructed my view of the hoop. None of that matters in Boston. So while Boston rightfully deserves to be called TitleTown, it doesn't matter what you call us. As William Shakespeare said, "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Actions speak louder than words. And nobody beats Boston when it comes to titles, passion, history and fans. Liz O'Donnell Boston, Mass. .