I’m going to admit something that I shouldn’t. I love the Chiefs, but I don’t know a lot about the Chiefs. I know they’re awesome and that Patrick Mahomes is the GOAT and that’s been all the knowledge I’ve needed over the years to consider myself a fan.

But then something happened (her name is Taylor Swift) to make me not just a Chief’s fan but a fan who knows the stats on Travis Kelce and defensive tackle Chris Jones.

The weird thing is I’m not even a Swifty. I wasn’t one of those moms who went with her girl gang of empty-nesters to Arrowhead Stadium this past summer to see Swift’s The Era Tour. But yet, there I was after the Chiefs beat the Ravens trying to figure out how Taylor, who has four concert dates in Tokyo, was going to make it to Las Vegas for the Super Bowl.

But wait: It gets weirder. My husband was doing the same thing. Yes, my husband, Taylor Swift’s newest No. 1 fan. (To be fair, our daughter loves Taylor Swift and that means over the years he has listened to a lot of her songs. “Folklore” is currently high up on his Spotify playlist.)

Everyone can take a deep breath because it looks like Taylor is going to make it to the big game thanks in arge part to Tokyo being 17 hours ahead of the Pacific time zone, but there’s still a cause for concern. According to my spouse, the staggering amount of air traffic in Vegas means her private jet might not be able in land.

This means Taylor’s aircraft, a Dassault Falcon, could have to touchdown somewhere like Los Angeles International Airport, and then she’ll have to schlep to Vegas via a car. Which is not optimal because the traffic from LA to Vegas is Zombie apocalypse horrific.

No worries, Taylor, because my husband is on it. Apparently, besides being a “Swifty” he’s now also an aviation enthusiast and trouble-shooter.

Using knowledge gathered from driving through St. George, Utah, multiple times to take our daughter back and forth to college in Southern California, he’s discovered that her jet can land at the St. George Regional Airport in Utah, putting her a mere 120 miles from Las Vegas with a whole lot less traffic. Maybe karma is the dad coming in clutch with Google Maps.

All of this Taylor plus Chiefs mania is bringing me immense joy. I love every part of it, from the grumpy football fans getting a case of the vapors — rage edition — when TV cameras veer away from the field to highlight Taylor watching the game to all the new Swifty fans this has brought to the Chiefs.

But my favorite part is the romance. This whole Taylor and Travis relationship is like a Hallmark movie fever dream. Two uber-talented and smart people finding each other gives me all the feels and I’m so here for it.

But dear God help me because I found myself actually looking at a gossip magazine at Target. I’m ashamed that I couldn’t resist the urge, but there I was hiding out in the shower curtain aisle so I could surreptitiously read what I know to be made up drivel — and yet I was eating it up.

Make no mistake: I want the Chiefs to beat the 49ers. But I also want these two to live happily ever after. This means on Super Bowl Sunday I’ll be cheering on the Chiefs and true love.