I went to game two of the ALDS today by myself.
I am a Guardians Season Ticket Holder, but in my 10-12 games a year, I always take 1-2 of our kids (ages 7, 6, almost 4, and 2). So, today was different. I got a scorecard because keeping score controls my emotions and competitive anxiety. I sat down and started talking to the older gentleman on my left who tolerated my various insights into the game very kindly.
On my right, I allowed a White Sox fan to sit in my assigned seat so he could sit next to his
friends. White Sox fan person (a “boss” of some sort) was not profane or abusive. But, he very clearly had only started paying attention the past two weeks, at most. Yet, there he was, standing and screaming in joy as the team I live and die with daily failed to secure a crucial victory. His joy did not appear to be any less than mine would have been despite my significantly superior emotional investment. So… why am I bothering?
At some level, it has to be that I get joy from this. Seeing Anthony Kay spike a throw and allow two runs was joyous. 11 strikeouts from Gavin Williams was a thrill of hope for a weary world to rejoice in. Jo Adell gave me an electric moment where I thought he had deposited one in the bleachers. I do truly revel in the feelings these events produce.
But, at another level, it’s a longing to be part of something bigger and to succeed. Is Cleveland going to be a good place for me and my family to live? That’s a group project. Are we going to survive the threats of A.I., climate change, resurgent fascism, persistent totalitarianism, biological warfare and the billionaire oligarchs that profit from it all as a society? That’s a group project. I’m rooting for us. Watching my baseball team win gives me just a little glimmer of hope that winning the actual important games is possible. It makes me a believe a collection of wildly diverse people with their own special talents and roles can do impossible things when the Guardians beat the Angels on a Wednesday night.
But, the Guardians did not win tonight. The baseball Sabrowski threw to a hitter with a 19 wRC+ vs LHP caught an inch too much of the plate and landed just 36 inches fair. The ball Kwan hit to left field was almost misplayed by Antonacci and landed just inches within his glove. The ball that seemingly hit Jose was just half an inch from being obviously a hit and resulting in two runs when Adell hit his smash… glorious victory just inches away… leaving me with crushing defeat.
When I got home, our three-year old, Zalee, asked me if the Guardians won. I said, “No, but Onion won the hot dog race!” And she squealed in delight. Her primary interest in the game is if Onion wins the hot dog race. When we go to games, she is as disappointed if Onion loses as I am if the Guardians Lose.
In the big scheme of things, is my joy really that much more significant than hers? Is my disappointment more crushing? If I had to guess, I’d assume the opposite is true. Seeing her felt-covered hero of condiment fame triumph is a more significant epochal milestone for her than a World Series title would be in my 43 years on this globe.
But, I suppose I will be successful in teaching her to love this wonderful, awful, joyous, soul-crushing sport like I do (if the aformentioned billionaires let us watch it again next season, of course). Someday, Zalee will cheer, cry, thrill, deflate, and scream like I do. And, the reason that’s ok is that it will be something that reminds her and me that we are in this thing together. That we don’t win without the other feeling joy and pride, and we don’t lose without the other feeling pain and humiliation. And, that’s life. And that’s humanity.
The Guardians didn’t win today. But, Onion did. She swung her purse at the last second and broke the finish line by inches before Ketchup. So, rejoice, Zalee. It’s a good night, after all.
