We would have won if Ron Washington had put Nolan Ryan on the mound.
For that matter, he should have put Nolan’s buddy, George W, on first base and himself on second. Then we could have watched him dance like a wind-up toy every time they made a double play. The other fielders could have stayed the same. Well, except one more switch. The home plate umpire should have relieved Napoli, because if he had been the one actually catching the pitches, he might have been able to discern which ones were balls and which ones were strikes.
If my brother is reading this post, he will waste no time in chiding, “You cannot write about baseball, because you do not know anything about baseball! Nika, you went to sleep at 10:00, and didn’t even watch the end of games 6 and 7!” And then he will add, a mixture of disappointment and venom in his voice, “You are nothing but a bandwagon jumper, a fair-weather fan.”
Though these accusations are meant to induce fan-guilt, I readily concede his point.
It’s true, I do not know anything beyond the basics of baseball. In fact, I learned all kinds of new things recently! For instance, there’s that bit about a ground rule double. News to me. *sigh* Though I am dense when it comes to sports, I enjoyed the last few weeks. What I loved about postseason mania was the sense of widened community. Lately, you could talk to anyone, anywhere, at any time about baseball, whether you or they knew all that much about it. There were other perks too: Our campus principal let us wear Rangers gear to work a few times and my students were especially happy and excited on game days. Also, some pizza joints had great deals in honor of our home team.
What I did not love about postseason play was baseball head, which is akin to medicine head — that groggy daze that lasts throughout the morning. Maybe baseball head is due to so many late games in a row or due to the intense stress of armchair coaching. Perhaps it is due to a constant sense of culpability, because it is your fault that they lost: you should not have gotten up to go to the bathroom, you should not have made that cocky status update, you should not have served that funky-tasting bean dip, you should not have started opening the cork on the champagne when they were one strike away (which is what my family did — we’re sorry, everyone). Yes, Texas Rangers fans have suffered through two full Octobers worth of baseball head. Still, I know we would all gladly do it again to rally for our boys from the Ballpark. As far as we are concerned, they will always be the champs.
Here is why — and, people, no one can take this away:
Andrus won the World Series of Most-Adorable-Smiles-Ever-And-I-Mean-EVER,
Hamilton won the World Series of Heroic-Personal-Comebacks,
Holland won the World Series of His-Personality-Makes-Me-Want-To-Hug-Him and You-Can-Shave-That-Nasty-Thing-Off-Your-Face-Now (both are titles Ron Washington lost by a hair),
Nelly won the World Series of Why-Can’t-I-Have-Creamy-Smooth-Skin-Like-That,
Murphy won the World Series of Looks-Like-He’s-Fixin’-To-Lead-A-Devo,
Kinsler won the World Series of You-Know-He-Was-A-Rat-Fink-In-Junior-High,
Napoli won the World Series of Most-F-Bombs-Mouthed-In-Slow-Motion-Replays,
and I think we will all agree that Wilson won the World Series of I-Have-A-Crush-On-Myself-But-Who-Can-Blame-Me, a title he resolutely defends.
See, there is still so much to celebrate, least of all the fact that we can face the workweek with clear heads. Besides, there is always next year.
Somewhere my brother is rolling his eyes.