As I slip begrudgingly into middle age a few revelations, uh, reveal themselves. Let me start again...
I've always considered myself to be an optimistic person. You know, the kind that always hopes for the miracle comeback; always sees the tiny glimmer of hope when the skies are darkest. With my beloved Baltimore O's having a fine first half I was thinking, hey, maybe they can hang on here. And after, what, five consecutive losing seasons, it was a stretch to consider that they would even be competitive. But I'm still convinced that winning at team sports is alot more forest than trees. Chemistry and the right combination of timely hitting and workmanlike pitching can carry a team through a full season. But when the (I see now) inevitable slide began, I kept up hope. They were losing close games, but losing nevertheless. Four games out, six and eight, a slide into fourth, not mentioned in wild card. And now, Raffi.... a patented fool if he did what they said and shame on him. It's truly too much pollyanna to think he didn't do something wrong.
With yesterday's Raffi doping revelation, I've not only lost faith in my O's this season, but pretty much turned the corner on the whole optimism thing. Wholesale. I realize now that baseball, indeed, all sports, are not some magical eternal rhythm that mark the years and provide context to the highs and lows of our lives. They are businesses, not unlike, say the automobile industry or international shipping. They are a product and we are a consumer. If, indeed, they hold some magic for us the fans it is because of our own foolish imaginations and our consistent desire to project ourselves on the outcomes of "games." These are games, people.
I will no longer get angry when the Orioles lose. It's a game. I will no longer root for the underdog against Tiger Woods. It's only a game. i will no longer obsess over my pitiful driving, putting, chipping, etc. It's only a game. I will no longer attempt to piss off smug Yankee fans. It's only a game
And after having written all that, with conviction, I know it's false. Call me shallow.
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