Jul
25
Baseball Disappointment
July 25, 2008 |
I’m just profoundly disappointed tonight. I went to the Reds/Rockies game tonight and the Reds were never in it. And I just couldn’t allow myself to have a good time, even though I was with my family.
Growing up, I had a love affair with baseball. As a matter of fact, I still do. I followed the Cincinnati Reds; the Big Red Machine to be exact. Winning was part of my birthright being born and raised in Cincinnati.
I listened to the radio under the covers when I was supposed to be sleeping. I followed every pitch of every game. I went to games all of the time; keeping score; remembering to bring my glove because a ball was certain to come my way, this time.
I knew the lineups and the stats by heart. I cheered in ‘75 and ‘76. Went to every Opening Day. Watched playoff games instead of doing homework.
I remembered where I was when I learned Sparky Anderson was fired, Pete Rose signed with the Phillies, and Joe Morgan was off to California; leaving a hollow shell of the Big Red Machine.
I followed the team through the awful early ’80s, going to a game on every homestand, if not a series, and somtimes going to entire homestands.
I went to the game against the Cubs when Pete Rose returned as player/manager and hit a double with his trademark slide. I celebrated the 1990 World Series. I had my hopes dashed in ‘94 and ‘95; two great teams, one shut down by the strike and the other shut down by the Braves Hall of Fame starting rotation. 1999 was a year forever etched in my memory. A great, young, gutsy team that won 96 games but didn’t make the playoffs, losing to the Mets in a one-game playoff for the wildcard. The last game of the season, the Reds were in Milwaukee suffering through (and winning) a miserable rain-delayed slogfest while the Mets were comfortably watching that game from their Cincinnati hotel rooms getting ready for the playoff game the next day. The Reds got back in town at 4:00 in the morning and never had a chance.
And I’ve watched as the Reds have been painfully miserable through this century. Painfully, because they have just played bad, fundamental-less baseball; making mistakes that no other team seems to make. A new stadium, different managers, different players; it doesn’t seem to matter.
I can accept futility; it’s part of baseball. You pick your team as a child and you follow them through thick and thin. It’s part of being an American male.
But what I cannot accept is that the game just isn’t any fun anymore. It’s too expensive and the Reds are so fundamentally lousy that I don’t enjoy them anymore.
And that is what has me so disappointed tonight. Tonight, we had tickets from my father-in-law; great seats behind the dugout. It was our first game of the year. My preschool son woke up this morning and immediately put on his Reds gear. My little girl looked adorable in her Reds outfit. They were excited beyond belief; the excitement that I remember all too well.
As a family, we go to about four or five games a year; but we’re trying to be more budget conscious nowadays and a Reds game just doesn’t provide us enough value for our entertainment dollar. The games are just too expensive and the product is just too unpredicatably bad. So, we only go when the tickets are free.
We tried to make the game fun, but when the game is so bad and everthing else is so expensive, how do you show your kids a good time.
I want my son to have the same type of memories that I had growing up when it comes to baseball; it’s part of the American tradition. But it’s hard to get him excited when my enthusiasm is so tepid.
Maybe in a couple of years, I’ll be able to take him down and we’ll get the cheap seats and just talk baseball. Maybe, I’ll be able to reignite my own love for this game and my team, which played so much a part of my childhood.
Maybe, I’ll just learn to set my own expectations aside and just enjoy being with my son and my family at the ballpark, regardless of the product on the field.
But sometimes, “maybe” is just a little further off in the horizon than it should be.
