The Columbus Crew defeated FC Cincinnati on Saturday night, and if you're a Crew supporter, it was about as satisfying a result as you could ask for. The atmosphere was electric, as always, the soccer was outstanding, and Columbus earned three points against one of its biggest rivals.

As I watched the match, though, I kept catching myself having the same thought I've had for years whenever two Ohio teams play each other: I wish they didn't.

Now, before anyone accuses me of wanting to get rid of the Hell Is Real Derby, Browns-Bengals games or the Ohio Cup, that's not what I'm saying at all. These games are important. They're good for the teams, they're good for the leagues, and they're incredibly fun for fans.

But I just feel... funky... the entire time I'm watching one of these games. Literally every play is simultaneously the best and the suck. One side scores and I'm happy. The other side gives up a goal and... well... I'm not. How can anybody party like that? Serious question.

Growing up outside Cincinnati, I was, of course, a Bengals fan. What I was always afraid to admit to anyone—certainly not my father or my brothers—was that, as long as the Browns weren't playing the Bengals, I quietly hoped they won too. As it turns out, my brothers secretly rooted for the Browns as well. These days, we've all come clean and freely admit we root for the Guardians.

But I think my wiring goes back even farther than that.

One of my earliest childhood memories is visiting family in Tennessee. We made that trip at least once every year, and usually more than once. During one visit, there was a football game on television, and one of the teams had a giant orange "T" on the side of its helmet. I remember asking what the "T" stood for—probably because I was at the age where everything was "A is for Apple" and "B is for Ball."

"Tennessee," someone told me.

Well... that made perfect sense. We were in Tennessee.  So I asked the next obvious question.

"Does Ohio have a team?"

My aunt smiled and said, "Yes. Ohio has the Ohio State Buckeyes."

Ohio.  State.

To my little-kid brain, that wasn't just a university. That was Ohio's team.  It encompassed the entirety of the state.  It was OUR team.  Where we were from.

On the drive home, I remember asking my dad, "Does Cincinnati have a team like the Buckeyes?"  He answered the question from the college perspective.  "Yes. The Cincinnati Bearcats."

And just like that, the Bearcats joined Ohio State in my little collection of teams. Looking back, I think that's where this whole thing started. Somewhere along the way, my brain permanently linked sports teams to the place where I lived instead of making me choose just one.  Which is actually to say, I had no choice.

I remember another moment years later that reinforced it.

I was watching a college basketball highlights show, and several Ohio teams had all won on the same day. For whatever reason, that absolutely fired me up. I grabbed a basketball, ran outside into the driveway and started yelling, "Ohio hoops! Ohio hoops!" while launching jumpers at the basket.

Sadly, that excitement was soon tempered as I obsessively recreated the baseline jumper Chris Jent missed against that team up north. Every miss sent me a little deeper into a malaise that lingered well past dinner.

So when UC plays Ohio State, it honestly feels like my brothers are fighting each other.  I want to run out onto the field and intervene.

That's why I don't like when Ohio teams play each other. It's just not cool.

Yet somehow..it totally is.  And now sports has become a Ren video.  See what I'm saying?

It's goofy.

But it's also awesome.

Most fans live for these games because they get bragging rights. They spend all week talking with friends, coworkers and family members who support the other side. Then, after the game, somebody gets to enjoy saying, "I told you so."

I've never cared much about that part. To be honest, I absolutely loathe the trash talk. (I'm looking at you, UC fans, every time the Bearcats play Ohio State. Look, I went to UC. I love that university. But some of the things I read online before those games are just embarrassing. Stop. Please.)

What I enjoy is watching Ohio teams compete against everybody else. If the Crew are playing Nashville, I hope Columbus wins. If FC Cincinnati is playing Atlanta, I hope Cincinnati wins. If the Browns are taking on Pittsburgh, or the Reds are hosting the Cubs, I'm all in. It feels like the entire state is pulling in the same direction, even if it's spread across different leagues and different cities.

Then the schedule gives us Crew versus Cincinnati or Browns versus Bengals, and suddenly one of my teams has to lose.

Of course, I know that's how sports work. Rivalries aren't going anywhere, nor should they. Hell Is Real has become one of the best rivalries in American sports because supporters on both sides have embraced it. Browns-Bengals games matter because they're divisional matchups. Guardians-Reds games are a reminder that Ohio is home to two proud—and historic—baseball franchises.

I'll continue watching every one of them.

I'll cheer when somebody scores a great goal, makes a spectacular catch or throws a game-winning touchdown. And when the final whistle or final out arrives, I'll congratulate the winner just like everyone else.

I just know that, for me, every celebration comes with one tiny, unavoidable thought in the back of my mind.

It's too bad the other Ohio team had to lose.