I can’t be the only person this happens to.

You begin watching a sports event. You don’t think you care what happens. You may not even have thought about caring about what happens.

And then at some point in the middle of the game, you realize that you not only are interested in the outcome, you not only have a bit of a preference for one team over the other … you realize you care a lot about how it turns out. And the only person more surprised than the people around you (who are listening to you plot and cajole and fulminate) … is yourself.

Well, that’s me and the Cleveland-Orlando series. And I didn’t know it until about the middle of Game 1 tonight.

There I was, moving around the TV, sorta watching but also doing other things … and then, finally settling down to see watch steadily in the second half, as Orlando began making a comeback from a 15-point deficit … and something just snapped inside my head.

“Die, Cleveland Cavaliers! Crash and burn! Go, you gutty little Magicians! Pull this out!”

And, later, wondering, “Where did that come from?”

You’ve had this happen, too? You think you’re just watching a game with no rooting interest. And then you discover, after action is joined, that you do, in fact, have a strong preference who wins?

This has happened to me many times. Usually not with quite the same vehemence as on this occasion.  But, generally, I cannot watch a game without eventually preferring to see one side or the other win. Often, it’s the underdog. But not always. Often it’s what I perceive to be the quieter, more dignified, classier team.

So, afterward, after a couple of family members expressed surprise at my rabid (and quite sudden) devotion to the Orlando Magic, and I began to try to figure out from where this allegiance arose.

Clearly, it was already in my subconscious. I just hadn’t focused on it. Or thought about it. It took an actual game to bring it out.

So, what is this about?

These are my best guesses.

–LeBron fatigue. He’s God. He’s better than Kobe. He will be better than Michael. His talc-tossing pregame thing is the coolest thing ever, I want to buy every product he gets paid to endorse (which is just about all of them, right?). He is the greatest guy and greatest teammate ever (even though we know perhaps less about him than any sports superstar ever because of his deft image manipulation). He’s all this and more before he wins a single NBA championship. And, apparently, in a part of my head, I am balking at this. And it is being played out by my preference to see him and his team fail — and short of the NBA Finals.

–I decided the Magic is a lovable gutty little underdog. Yes. Even with Dwight Howard, the only guy in the league who makes LeBron look frail. Orlando has Howard, who gets superstar treatment but whose frailties are clear for anyone to see — in particular, his brain-dead knack for picking up ridiculously stupid fouls and, secondarily, his Young Shaq “game” — which is little more than brute force and dunking. That is one limited superstar which, perversely, makes him more likeable. And besides that, I don’t mind the other guys. Hedo Turkoglu, point forward and clutch shooter. Who knew? Rashard Lewis, spindly, a defensive liability but an assassin with the ball in his hands and the basket within 30 feet. Mickael Pietrus, Rafer Alston, Courtney Lee, Rafer Alston, Anthony Johnson … Marcin Gortat? Who are these guys and how are they bringing panic to the arena in Cleveland?

–Orlando’s approach to Game 1. These are the foils for the Cavaliers, remember? But they didn’t play that way. They didn’t get down. They didn’t quit when Mo Williams hit that 67-footer to put them down 15 at the half. They started draining cold-blooded threes, and on their last possession, down by two, they played for a three. Not for a deuce and a tie. Turkoglu and Lewis kept maneuvering around the edge of the arc, looking for a tiny bit of space to launch a bomb, and when Lewis finally got a foot of separation between himself and Anderson Varajao, he launched that three … and I found myself blurting “splash!” even before it went through the net. That was heart. That was guts. Playing to win, here and now. Not for a tie and the vague hope that they would get another look at the basket, or maybe go to overtime. To win. Now. In LeBron’s Den.

–Annoyance with this sort of media-wide (heck, nationwide) idea of a predestined Finals between the Lakers and Cavaliers. As manifested in the national “Kobe or LeBron?” dialogue as well as certain advertising campaigns seemingly based on the Cleveland-Los Angeles final. (And, yes: If I had not been watching the Lakers since I was 7 years old, I probably would be equally as annoyed with the Lakers and as enamored with the Denver Nuggets, though the tatted up faux gangsta Nugs are a lot hard to want to hug to your bosom.) The Underdog Fan in me wants to see this presumed/assumed matchup in the Finals not happen.

–The imbalance of the Cavaliers as a team. Essentially, LeBron James and a cast of guys who have a sort of parasitic relationship with him. Even worse than the Other Lakers and Kobe. LeBron’s guys are all about “I’ll shoot when you draw the defenders off me” … and “I’ll play defense to force my guy into LeBron, who will back me up” … and “wonder if we can stay close while LeBron gets his 60 seconds of rest” … and the “we’re serious players, no really, it’s not just about LeBron, as those eight straight we won against Detroit and Atlanta (didn’t) prove.” I prefer my teams to have a little more “team” in them. That is, anything that is greater than “we sometimes hang with LeBron.”

–The Stan Van Gundy Factor. This guy dresses badly and never got his teeth fixed as a kid. We can’t deny that. I imagine he knows that, and he can deal with that sort of petty, personal criticism. But what has to be galling are the vicious criticisms about his professional talents. He has been described in terms that would have you believe he is the NBA’s coaching fraternity’s village idiot … who somehow got to be coach of a team that went 59-23 despite him and took out the Celtics by some act of God. I feel bad for him. Maybe I empathize with him. Maybe he isn’t Larry Brown, but he isn’t Don Cheney, either.

So, there you are. I apparently am a huge  Magic fan. I had no idea until about 7:30 tonight.