I’m pleased to welcome our first guest-poster here at Butterscotch Sundae. Rockford has asked Chris to talk to you about baseball, and our favorite expat was kind enough to agree to do so.
I was born and raised a Dodgers fan because my Dad was a Dodgers fan. I remained a Dodgers fan until I got to the age when you start to disagree with your Dad, and then I became a Braves fan. I loved the Braves when they sucked, in the ’80s when they wore powder blue and averaged 65 wins per season. When Dale “The Stormin’ Mormon” Murphy was their sole All-Star. There’s something pure about a team that bad, something simple and something loveable. The best thing was that every single game could be seen on “The Superstation” sandwiched between reruns of “The Dukes of Hazzard” and “Dallas.” That glorious 1995 series win over Cleveland made it all worthwhile, yet their hapless record in the post-season kept things simple.
The Braves didn’t make the playoffs this year. But it doesn’t matter because as the 2008 MLB playoffs get started up, I’m a die-hard Tampa Bay Devil Rays.* This isn’t because I grew up in Florida; Tampa Bay didn’t have a team until I had left the Sunshine State firmly in my rear view mirror. Nor is it some kind of bandwagon jumping. I’m pulling for the Devil Rays this year because they’ve got the second-lowest payroll in major league baseball.
You see, Rockford probably could have found a bigger baseball fan than me to do this guest post. In fact, when Rockford asked me to do this I hadn’t a clue who was actually in the playoffs. As a long-time expatriate it’s not easy to be a fan of American sports. Inexplicably, local sports get the bulk of the media attention and TV time. So following my favorite teams involves a lot of time on the computer –- reading accounts of the games on ESPN.com and SI.com, listening to grainy internet radio casts of the games at ridiculous hours of the night or morning. I reserve most of my energy for college football, so MLB no longer ranks that high on my priority list.
That’s a shame really, because you wouldn’t have found a bigger baseball fan than myself when I was growing up. “Fan” isn’t even the right word; “obsessive devotee” may be more accurate. I collected cards, followed box scores in the papers, worshipped the stars of the day, established elaborate fantasy leagues before that was de rigeur. That’s because I loved the game. I love the slow pace and the Byzantine rules and scorekeeping. I love hearing the crack of the bat and the thump of a blazing fastball in the catcher’s mitt. I love the national anthem and the organ music in the ballpark and the seventh inning stretch.
But along the way, this obsessive love cooled as these things do. The strike in 1981 was more confusing than anything, but the lockout in 1990 and then the strike of 1994 began to show me that major league baseball wasn’t what I thought it was as a child. I realized that it was all about money. I began to realize that it was about greedy owners and spoiled players and drugs and that the whole MLB was just bloated like a tick on a stray dog. These days, teams buy their ways to championships, or try to at least. With the exception of the Devil Rays, all of the playoff teams this year have payrolls in excess of $100 million. There’s something almost obscene about that.
When I go to visit my parents in Florida, my Dad and I usually catch a minor league ball game. The Daytona Cubs are a Class A affiliate of Chicago playing in the Florida State League against such perennial powerhouses as the Brevard County Manatees and the Lakeland Flying Tigers. The Cubs play at Jackie Robinson Ballpark, which sits on the Intercoastal Waterway. It’s so named because, according to the club Web site, in 1946, Robinson came to town for spring training with the Montreal Royals. He was banned from playing in Jacksonville and Sanford, but not in Daytona. His first professional plate appearance came in an exhibition game against their parent club, the Brooklyn Dodgers. Robinson went on to become the first African-American player in the Major Leagues.
Dad and I go to watch the Cubs, fill up on bad hot dogs and pretzels, I keep score, we try to catch foul balls and usually come away with some kind of free promotion. We enjoy the Florida summer twilight and do the things fathers and sons have been doing in America for over a century. Enjoy a game of baseball the way it was intended.
The Daytona Cubs won the Florida State League Championship this year. So, Rockford, even if the big club doesn’t make it all the way (which of course they won’t) at least some Cubs are champs.