Nothing gets me amped up quite like baseball. Sure, you might say it's a slow sport. Timeless innings that may never end, countless catcher visits to the mound and timeouts between swings to re-Velcro a hitter's gloves. You can be a fan of football, hockey and basketball and their near-constant action (I sure am), but my heart lies on the diamond.
Now that the postseason is here we can watch, day after day, the best teams in the game playing for eternal glory. Myself, I am a fan of the Milwaukee Brewers and Cleveland Indians equally. Some people think that's weird, but when I was 6 years old I loved both the hometown team (Brewers) as well as the team from my favorite movie ("Major League"). I don't regret my decisions from when I was 6.
A year ago, the Indians lost to the Cubs in Game 7 of the World Series. Chicagoland rejoiced while I cried under a bridge 400 feet from Progressive Field in Cleveland.
Cubs fans - actual friends of mine - had suggested "they deserve a championship" for their misery. But here's the thing: while the Cubs did go more than 100 years without a title (compared to Cleveland's 69), the only real misery they suffered was watching Moises Alou complain about a foul ball and Alex Gonzalez boot a routine grounder. In the NLCS. In a Game 6. In a series they led 3-2.
As much as I want to say, "I understand that," I can't. Why? Because in 1997 I watched as Jose Mesa (shudder) blew GAME 7 OF THE WORLD SERIES. To the Marlins. And some rookie from Whitefish Bay named Craig Counsell.
So, in 2016, 19 years after having my heart torn out of my chest in sixth grade, I was at a Game 6 and Game 7. I surprised my family by taking selfies in the stands, and I was ready for a championship. Cleveland was without its No. 2 and No. 3 starting pitchers and its best hitter. But here they were. At home, up 3-2 in the series. But the Cubs won Game 6 and led late in Game 7.
And just as I thought "That's it, we're done. I've wasted a month's worth of paychecks to see another heartbreak," Rajai Davis cracked the home run of my lifetime. The elation in my blood, the beating of my heart and the raucous high-fiving of every Indians fan in that stadium equated to the single greatest sports moment of my life. We were tied. The game was going to go on. Suddenly, we had the momentum.
Then the umpires saw sprinkles and thought a big storm was coming, so they pulled out the tarp for a rain delay. What they didn't know was that the sprinkles were simply a small band of sprinkles on the radar and that the real storm was about two hours away.
The momentum was lost. The Cubs scored in the 10th. My heart was ripped out again.
This season, my Indians started the year sizably flat, much like the Cubs. A rash of injuries plagued them early, but with a weak division I knew all they needed to do was reach the playoffs and we had what it took to get back to the World Series. Then came The Streak.
For those who didn't pay attention this year, Cleveland set an American League record with 22 straight wins. And they did almost all of it without their best hitter (Michael Brantley), again, or their second baseman (Jason Kipnis), their regular right fielder (Lonnie Chisenhall) or even their ace in the bullpen (Andrew Miller). But there they went, winning game after game.
My favorite moment in the streak came for win No. 18 on Sept. 10 against the Orioles. In the sixth inning, tied at 1, catcher Roberto Perez hit just his fifth home run of the year to give Cleveland a 2-1 lead. The next batter, leadoff man Francisco Lindor, aka Mr. Smile, broke two bats in one plate appearance.
The Cleveland dugout, perplexed, searched for a usable backup bat - and they grabbed Abraham Almonte's bat. So, here's Lindor, a skinny 23-year-old, using a bat that is different dimensions than he's used to. He looks back at the dugout with a half-grin, half-confused look. On the very next pitch, No. 8 of this five-minute at-bat, he hit a no-doubt home run to right field and looked into the dugout with an ear-to-ear grin. Cleveland won 3-2.
The entire streak felt like a playoff run. Twenty-two wins in 23 games is double what any team would need in the postseason. They proved to everyone that they would be back at it. My confidence in a team has never been higher.
And yet on Sunday, Cleveland lost 1-0 to the Yankees in New York. Then again on Monday, 7-3. Now the series is tied and Wednesday night is the elimination game. During Sunday's Yankee game, my heart was pumping as hard as it did last November. My anxiety was peaking. And even though my team lost, I once again had my love for this game re-affirmed. It's not just the fresh-cut grass, the smell of a leather glove in your face and fresh dirt on your thighs - it's all the intricacies of the game that have me wiggle in delight.
I can only hope that when this season ends, my Indians will be the ones celebrating on the pitcher's mound in a pile of joyous emotions.
- Adam Krebs is a reporter for the Monroe Times and a former below-average
junior college left fielder.
He can be reached at
akrebs@themonroetimes.net.
Now that the postseason is here we can watch, day after day, the best teams in the game playing for eternal glory. Myself, I am a fan of the Milwaukee Brewers and Cleveland Indians equally. Some people think that's weird, but when I was 6 years old I loved both the hometown team (Brewers) as well as the team from my favorite movie ("Major League"). I don't regret my decisions from when I was 6.
A year ago, the Indians lost to the Cubs in Game 7 of the World Series. Chicagoland rejoiced while I cried under a bridge 400 feet from Progressive Field in Cleveland.
Cubs fans - actual friends of mine - had suggested "they deserve a championship" for their misery. But here's the thing: while the Cubs did go more than 100 years without a title (compared to Cleveland's 69), the only real misery they suffered was watching Moises Alou complain about a foul ball and Alex Gonzalez boot a routine grounder. In the NLCS. In a Game 6. In a series they led 3-2.
As much as I want to say, "I understand that," I can't. Why? Because in 1997 I watched as Jose Mesa (shudder) blew GAME 7 OF THE WORLD SERIES. To the Marlins. And some rookie from Whitefish Bay named Craig Counsell.
So, in 2016, 19 years after having my heart torn out of my chest in sixth grade, I was at a Game 6 and Game 7. I surprised my family by taking selfies in the stands, and I was ready for a championship. Cleveland was without its No. 2 and No. 3 starting pitchers and its best hitter. But here they were. At home, up 3-2 in the series. But the Cubs won Game 6 and led late in Game 7.
And just as I thought "That's it, we're done. I've wasted a month's worth of paychecks to see another heartbreak," Rajai Davis cracked the home run of my lifetime. The elation in my blood, the beating of my heart and the raucous high-fiving of every Indians fan in that stadium equated to the single greatest sports moment of my life. We were tied. The game was going to go on. Suddenly, we had the momentum.
Then the umpires saw sprinkles and thought a big storm was coming, so they pulled out the tarp for a rain delay. What they didn't know was that the sprinkles were simply a small band of sprinkles on the radar and that the real storm was about two hours away.
The momentum was lost. The Cubs scored in the 10th. My heart was ripped out again.
This season, my Indians started the year sizably flat, much like the Cubs. A rash of injuries plagued them early, but with a weak division I knew all they needed to do was reach the playoffs and we had what it took to get back to the World Series. Then came The Streak.
For those who didn't pay attention this year, Cleveland set an American League record with 22 straight wins. And they did almost all of it without their best hitter (Michael Brantley), again, or their second baseman (Jason Kipnis), their regular right fielder (Lonnie Chisenhall) or even their ace in the bullpen (Andrew Miller). But there they went, winning game after game.
My favorite moment in the streak came for win No. 18 on Sept. 10 against the Orioles. In the sixth inning, tied at 1, catcher Roberto Perez hit just his fifth home run of the year to give Cleveland a 2-1 lead. The next batter, leadoff man Francisco Lindor, aka Mr. Smile, broke two bats in one plate appearance.
The Cleveland dugout, perplexed, searched for a usable backup bat - and they grabbed Abraham Almonte's bat. So, here's Lindor, a skinny 23-year-old, using a bat that is different dimensions than he's used to. He looks back at the dugout with a half-grin, half-confused look. On the very next pitch, No. 8 of this five-minute at-bat, he hit a no-doubt home run to right field and looked into the dugout with an ear-to-ear grin. Cleveland won 3-2.
The entire streak felt like a playoff run. Twenty-two wins in 23 games is double what any team would need in the postseason. They proved to everyone that they would be back at it. My confidence in a team has never been higher.
And yet on Sunday, Cleveland lost 1-0 to the Yankees in New York. Then again on Monday, 7-3. Now the series is tied and Wednesday night is the elimination game. During Sunday's Yankee game, my heart was pumping as hard as it did last November. My anxiety was peaking. And even though my team lost, I once again had my love for this game re-affirmed. It's not just the fresh-cut grass, the smell of a leather glove in your face and fresh dirt on your thighs - it's all the intricacies of the game that have me wiggle in delight.
I can only hope that when this season ends, my Indians will be the ones celebrating on the pitcher's mound in a pile of joyous emotions.
- Adam Krebs is a reporter for the Monroe Times and a former below-average
junior college left fielder.
He can be reached at
akrebs@themonroetimes.net.
