I’m not yelling, I’m a Denver Nuggets girl. We just talk loud. It’s not attitude—it’s altitude. It’s not noise—it’s passion. And if you don’t get it, you’re probably not from the Mile High City. There’s a culture, a rhythm, a fire to how we carry ourselves in Denver, and when it comes to repping our team, it’s not something we whisper about. It’s something we live, breathe, and scream at the top of our lungs—because when you bleed Nuggets blue and gold, you don’t do it quietly.
Being a Denver Nuggets girl means living unapologetically loud. Not loud in volume alone, but loud in pride, in energy, in loyalty. Whether it’s freezing cold in January or the playoffs are heating up in June, we’re showing up in Jokic jerseys, glitter on our cheeks, our nails painted navy and sunshine yellow. We’re rallying in the streets, posting 10-slide Instagram stories during game nights, and yes, we’re yelling. Not out of anger, but from the joy of watching our squad ball out, dominate the paint, and rain threes from deep.
You see, to be a Nuggets girl is to know that this love didn’t start with a championship. It started long before the banners and confetti. It was forged in seasons of heartbreak, buzzer-beater losses, and rebuilding years. It was born in the era of Chauncey and Melo, grew louder with Ty Lawson, and matured through the rise of Nikola Jokić—our humble two-time MVP who passes like Magic and scores like Dirk. Our pride was never bought—it was earned.
We yell because we remember what it felt like to be counted out. Year after year, we watched national media brush us off like background noise. They talked about the Lakers, the Celtics, the Warriors. But when the Nuggets started rising—when Jamal Murray began lighting up the court with that impossible swagger and Jokić became the unguardable unicorn—the world started to take notice. And we started yelling even louder. Not to prove ourselves to anyone else, but to echo what we always knew: we’ve been here, and now you see us.
A Denver Nuggets girl is not just a basketball fan. She’s a movement. She understands what it means to support something relentlessly, even when it’s not trendy or easy. She’s loyal through double-overtime heartbreaks and epic playoff comebacks. She’s the girl screaming from her balcony when the Nuggets clinch the West. She’s the woman high-fiving strangers on Colfax after a Game 7 win. She’s the teen with “Mile High Basketball” stitched on her backpack and the mom who’s passing down her love for the Nuggets like a family heirloom.
When you grow up in Denver, Nuggets basketball isn’t just a pastime—it’s a part of your identity. It’s the sound of altitude-annoyed opponents gasping for air in the fourth quarter. It’s that electric moment when Ball Arena goes dark and the opening video blares across the jumbotron. It’s Rocky the mascot flipping from the rafters and kids in Nikola wigs holding up “JOKER” signs with hand-drawn cards. It’s all of it, all at once. And we celebrate it loudly.
We don’t apologize for cheering with everything we’ve got. We don’t shrink for people who think our energy is “too much.” Because you know what? That energy is what got us through the tough years. That energy is what made our fan base one of the most resilient in the league. That energy is what makes Ball Arena a fortress in the playoffs. We’re not yelling because we’re angry—we’re yelling because we care. Because we always cared.
There’s something uniquely Denver about the way we show love. It’s not pretentious or flashy—it’s real. And yes, sometimes it’s loud. But that’s what makes it special. You’ll hear it in every “Let’s go Nuggets!” chant echoing down the 16th Street Mall. You’ll hear it in the roar that follows every Jokić no-look dime and every Murray step-back three. You’ll feel it in your bones when the entire arena sings along to “All the Small Things” in the fourth quarter, arm in arm with strangers who suddenly feel like family.
To be a Denver Nuggets girl is to embrace that kind of raw, unfiltered devotion. We talk loud because we’re in it. We’re not watching passively—we’re invested with our whole hearts. We know the players’ stats, their backstories, their injuries and their triumphs. We follow trade rumors like soap operas and analyze rotations like we’re in the locker room ourselves. We’ve been to those freezing midnight rallies outside the arena, waving signs and screaming into the cold night sky, just to send our boys off to the playoffs with the energy they deserve.
And when the haters come—because they always do—we don’t shrink back. We rise up. We lean in. We yell louder. Because we’re not just defending our team—we’re defending our community. This city, this team, this culture—it’s ours. Built not by flashy free-agent signings or bloated payrolls, but by savvy front office moves, homegrown talent, and a fanbase that refused to give up. That’s the spirit we carry as Nuggets girls. That’s the voice behind our volume.
Some people don’t get it. They’ll look at us and say, “Why are you yelling? It’s just basketball.” But to us, it’s never just basketball. It’s resilience. It’s identity. It’s everything. It’s watching Jokić redefine the center position while keeping that soft smile and homespun humility. It’s Jamal coming back from an ACL tear to drop 40 in the playoffs like nothing happened. It’s Aaron Gordon bodying up LeBron and KCP hitting the dagger three. It’s Coach Malone rallying the squad and talking about legacy. It’s all the battles we fought, both on the court and off, to prove that the Nuggets belong at the top.
So when we yell, we’re not being dramatic—we’re being authentic. When we chant, when we scream, when we dance in the aisles of Ball Arena or shout across a packed sports bar, we’re doing what Nuggets girls have always done: showing up and showing out. Loudly, proudly, fearlessly.
We know who we are. We’re loud because we care. We’re passionate because we believe. And we’re loud because the Nuggets give us something to believe in. We talk loud because we were raised on Rocky’s half-court stunts, Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf’s silky jump shot, Mutombo’s finger wag, and the Mile High magic that lives in every buzzer-beater and breakaway slam. We talk loud because we remember the heartbreaks and savor the glory that much more.
So the next time someone says, “You don’t have to yell,” just smile and say it proudly: “I’m not yelling. I’m a Denver Nuggets girl. We just talk loud.”
Because that’s what we do. We love loud. We believe loud. We celebrate loud. And no matter what the standings say, no matter how the season ends, our voices will echo long after the final buzzer sounds. We are Nuggets girls, and we’re not turning the volume down for anyone.
