If we're friends on Face Book, and assuming you read every single one of my posts (!), you would know this about me: I don't really care for sports, not having played any when I was young. Unless you count kick the can.
However, I graduated from a sports frenzied high school. Our Jefferson City Jays football team was amazing, winning a couple of state championships in a row. I think. I'm sure I'll be reminded if my memory is faulty. Well, that's already been established in myriad situations. But I'm talking specifically about that state championship thing.
Later on in life, I used to get very irritated when I was on staff at a church and we had to consider the city's sporting schedules before making plans to undertake anything that required a lot of folks.
And then there are the players' salaries. Massive amounts of hungry people could be fed, homeless be sheltered, diseases researched and cured with the billions paid to sports personnel. I haven't done the math because I only have ten fingers and ten toes. I think I'd even blow up my solar powered calculator attempting that equation.
And, can we talk about the tedium that sports watching entails? I think soccer is the worst culprit (sorry soccer fans and players...I still love YOU). When a score is 1-0 after ninety minutes that really just amounts to a lot of running around, kicking a ball, sometimes headbutting (why are no helmets involved) and quite a lot of flopping. I'll bet you're surprised that I know that term. Now THAT'S a reason to watch soccer...so I can yell, "He's TOTALLY flopping!"
Lastly, but probably most importantly...I can't handle close games. I can tune into the last few minutes of a basketball game and get completely tied up in knots if it's a three or four point game. I blame Brian Presberry for that. He made some crazy last second shot and our Jays won by one point against our arch nemesis, Columbia Hickman. I think I had already graduated because I can see it perfectly in my mind and I wasn't sitting with the million other Jayettes...I was across the gym. That doesn't really matter, except to point out that my brain stores ridiculous things that I need to get rid of to make room for things that matter now. Like why I got up and went into the kitchen. (That happened this morning. And, sadly, it's not the first time).
So that's why I don't care for sports.
But...something happened to me last month I haven't been able to decipher yet. I didn't watch one single baseball game the entire regular season. I heard from time to time that the Royals were doing well and I was like, "Oh, yea. That's good." I don't even think I watched any of the games against Houston. But by the time Toronto rolled into town I found myself oddly attracted to it. I watched all the games. Stayed up way late and considered asking my doctor for a prescription for nitroglycerin.
By the time the World Series rolled around I knew the batting lineup. What's up with that? By the end of the first game I knew which Mets players and pitchers were gonna give us trouble. "Us?" Somewhere between Toronto and the Mets I became a fanatic.
My kids were giving me funny looks. Ron just kept rolling his eyes. I would sit alone in our lower level (Ron won't let me call it a basement) and whoop and clap by myself. Kate and I would text like mad, emogi-ing hand clapping and thumbs up and smiley faces with tongues hanging out.
It was a bit ridiculous. Ok, more than a bit.
The last game, when it was tied in the ninth, I went upstairs to wake Ron up and watched the rest of it in our bedroom. The weirdest thing happened. It happens when I talk to the kids and we're watching the same thing...there's like a three or four second delay in what they're watching and what I see. Our windows were open and I could hear people cheering before I saw what was happening on the television. So...I knew they Royals had won before I saw it. I remember whispering "They did it! They did it!" before the final strike was thrown.
The next day I watched everything I could about the Royals' hard fought victory. I even watched a replay of the last three innings...and I still got nervous, even though I knew how it would end.
I debated back and forth about going to the parade. Tyler and Ron had to work and Kate doesn't love big crowds, so I stayed home and watched it all unfold on TV. It wasn't until the images started hitting Face Book that I was able to fully comprehend the magnitude of it all.
Amazing. Just amazing.
If I had to use one word to describe how I felt it would be...
Joy.
Those Boys in Blue played with pure joy. They love the game. They love each other. They have families who love and support them. They know each others' skill sets; combined they're a force to be reckoned with. They have freedom to play the best game they can, not dictated by an ego-driven manager. But it's the joy that spills over, like the Gatorade Salvy loves to splash around, that makes them so likable and fun to watch.
And the fans! Straight up beer-drinking, high fiving, Moose-calling, joy-filled men, women and children of all ages. They love their Royals and their Royals love them right back.
If wishes do come true...I'd keep this team intact for another 100 years. Or until their knees/arms give out.
I guess that makes me a fan, too. And I kind of like it.
When's Spring Training start? PLAY BALL!
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