"I used to advertise my loyalty
and I don't believe there is a single person I loved
that I didn't eventually betray."
-- Albert Camus, The Fall
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| Wind up tiger toy walking all over Chief Wahoo 10-3-14 |
"Such loyalty is admirable, of course ...
but Dumbledore is gone Harry. He's gone."
-- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.
That's my stance on post-season baseball.
I cheered loyally all season long for my Cleveland Indians until they pissed away their final chances.
So now, if and until they lose, I'm a Detroit Tiger's fan.
Hold up. Hold up.
Hear me out.
It's not just some tawdry fling.
I can explain.
I grew up in Michigan cheering for the boys in orange and blue with the Old English "D" on their chests.
I was a loyal Tiger's fan my whole young life. I watched them kill it in the 1984 World Series when Kirk Gibson still had hair. (*Hell, I was already a Kirk Gibson fan when he was an All-American wide receiver for the Michigan State Spartans and I was just a little kid in a snowsuit snuggled up to my dad in the stands eating stadium dogs and yelling "Go Green! Go White!")
I listened to hundreds of Tigers games on the radio, working in the yard with my dad, stacking firewood, raking leaves. The work was just something to busy my hands while the game was on.
I fell asleep to the sound of my dad shouting at the television when the Tigers fucked up (which they did monumentally last night in their 3-12 debacle against the Orioles.)
I celebrated my 21st birthday (a 104-degree day with no A.C.) sprawled on the living room floor splitting a 4-pack of Seagram's wine coolers with ... yep, you guessed it, my dad.
I was weaned on Ernie Harwell. When a batter heard strike three smack into the catcher's mitt we'd say it along with him -- "He stood there like a house by the side of the road!"
I got married and moved to Ohio in the early '90s, back when the Tigers were cold and the Indians were on fire. Almost 20 years ago, on my due date, hugely pregnant with my first baby, I sat through 13-innings of Indians vs. Twins when Jacob's Field was still called Jacob's Field.
Somewhere along the line the scales tipped and I realized I'd lived more of my life cheering for the Indians than the Tigers.
And I didn't mean to, but gradually I became a loyal Tribe fan and it stuck. And yet, when the Tigers come to town, I'm always a little torn.
But this is the playoffs. It's the World-Fucking-Series.
I can't just watch it.
I need a team to root for. I need a team to shout at.
I need a team to care about.
It's a good thing I have another team up my sleeve.
Go Tigers!
*(Just for the record -- living in Ohio has not made me an Ohio State fan, nor will it ever, no matter how long I live in the buckeye state. My daddy raised me better than that.)
