If you have been watching the playoffs, specifically the game last night that sends Tampa Bay to the World Series for the very first time, you have experienced the phenomena that I call the "puppy dog pile.” That is the exciting moment at the end of the game when the shortstop throws the ball to get the runner out at second and ends the game in the bottom of the ninth inning. Mayhem ensues and the pitcher throws his arms up in victory. The catcher throws off his bulky helmet and runs at the pitcher, jumping up and wrapping his legs around him in a huge bear hug and suddenly all the other players on the field jump on top of them until there is a teeming mass of legs and heads and hands pounding on each other. Here come the outfielders. It takes them longer to get to the action so they are the last ones there. They jumped on top of the pile until it is a churning lump of humanity, reminiscent of the “monkey piles” we formed in fourth grade.
Unbridled joy and celebration. This, girlfriend, is the prerogative of the victorious. The losers need not apply.
Tampa Bay beat the Red Sox 3 to 1 last night and won the series 4-3. It was a fun series one with some exciting twists, but this young team looked good and solid after a good and solid season and I wish them well in the Series. You’ll find, girlfriend, that when you know a little bit more about any game, you can appreciate it more when the team you and your couch buddy are rooting for loser in a well fought, well played game.
Tampa Bay beat the Red Sox 3 to 1 last night and won the series 4-3. It was a fun series one with some exciting twists, but this young team looked good and solid after a good and solid season and I wish them well in the Series. You’ll find, girlfriend, that when you know a little bit more about any game, you can appreciate it more when the team you and your couch buddy are rooting for loser in a well fought, well played game.
I know. I once told you that baseball will break your heart. And it does, almost every season. It’s no fun to lose. I’ve had the advantage of rooting for several teams this season—the Mariners (St. Rita, patron saint of lost causes, pray for us), the Milwaukee Brewers in the playoffs, and now in this past week, the Red Sox against Tampa Bay. So I found a way to extend the excitement of the baseball season. But last night I had to experience the same thing that my friends who are Yankee fans and are Cubs fans have already experienced. It’s time to close down your season of fan-dom. I know we still have the Series and great baseball ahead. But I’ll be watching it differently. More detached, more open to both teams, less enmeshed.
It’s a sad fact of being a fan that sometimes, it is just better when your team doesn’t make the playoffs or gets eliminated. Then you can return to being a normal human being again. You can sleep better. Maybe you can fold laundry or pay bills or do some other “multi-tasking” thing as you watch. Maybe you can skip a game or two and not be so obsessive about checking the internet. You aren’t sneaking peaks at the computer generated game update on mlb.com and emailing The Boyfriend about the progress of your team. It almost is a relief to finally say, “enough.”
And then you look at the faces of the fans in St. Petersburg and Tampa Bay. You see this incredible joy and victory of the folks wearing Bartlett and Longoria jerseys and jumping up and down and pointing “We’re Number 1!” fingers in the air. You watch the puppy dog pile and note that the players in Tampa are all really young, so they jump higher and with more abandon than a David Ortiz or a Jason Varitek might. You watch the dozens and dozens of champagne bottles get shook and sprayed in the air and over the heads of players and misting the lens of the cameras in the locker room. Then you watch the camera pan to the Red Sox dugout where the disappointment is quiet and deep and palpable. You know that somewhere, someone is destroying all those boxes of pre-printed tee-shirts and caps that proclaimed the Red Sox as the American League champions. And you wish that it was you who were celebrating.
We still have the Series ahead, so baseball isn’t dead yet. But I’ll also be starting to look forward to next year’s season. And that, dear girlfriend, is as American as baseball, apple pie and Mom.
It’s a sad fact of being a fan that sometimes, it is just better when your team doesn’t make the playoffs or gets eliminated. Then you can return to being a normal human being again. You can sleep better. Maybe you can fold laundry or pay bills or do some other “multi-tasking” thing as you watch. Maybe you can skip a game or two and not be so obsessive about checking the internet. You aren’t sneaking peaks at the computer generated game update on mlb.com and emailing The Boyfriend about the progress of your team. It almost is a relief to finally say, “enough.”
And then you look at the faces of the fans in St. Petersburg and Tampa Bay. You see this incredible joy and victory of the folks wearing Bartlett and Longoria jerseys and jumping up and down and pointing “We’re Number 1!” fingers in the air. You watch the puppy dog pile and note that the players in Tampa are all really young, so they jump higher and with more abandon than a David Ortiz or a Jason Varitek might. You watch the dozens and dozens of champagne bottles get shook and sprayed in the air and over the heads of players and misting the lens of the cameras in the locker room. Then you watch the camera pan to the Red Sox dugout where the disappointment is quiet and deep and palpable. You know that somewhere, someone is destroying all those boxes of pre-printed tee-shirts and caps that proclaimed the Red Sox as the American League champions. And you wish that it was you who were celebrating.
We still have the Series ahead, so baseball isn’t dead yet. But I’ll also be starting to look forward to next year’s season. And that, dear girlfriend, is as American as baseball, apple pie and Mom.
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