The teams that Rick grew up watching must have really been something special.
The teams that my generation are watching are equally as depressing. And there is literally no end in sight.
Glenn, Thyrl, Ryan, and everyone that contributed to yesterday’s Orioles celebration…
Screw you for ruining my weekend. Screw you for making me realize what I’ve been missing these past 14 years.
Screw you for bringing tears to my eyes.
But thank you for bringing back the memories of those players. Just like Nestor said, it’s great and awful. I hate you and I love you for bringing back memories of what I refer to as the glory days.
That’s all any of us in Baltimore have to hold onto. To Rick, the glory days involved Brooks, Jim Palmer, Eddie, Cal, Frank, and the rest. To me, I relived my glory days yesterday. For a few hours, I was back in the first row in left field watching the O’s defeat the Mariners in 1997. I was back to my basement watching Roberto Alomar strike out to end the ’97 ALCS.
And now I’m back to reality. I told Nestor I was covering the game on Sunday. He laughed. I told my friend I couldn’t go to his cookout because I’m going to the O’s game. He snickered. “Why do you wanna go see them?”
I have more to write, but honestly, I’m burnt out. I don’t want to write anymore. The opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference. People can get excited about baseball for an afternoon when we’re hearing from Alomar and Surhoff and the rest. They can let their mind wonder and think about what it would be like going to Camden Yards in September watching the O’s hold off the Yankees and Red Sox in the AL East.
But at some point, they come back to reality. They just give up. Rick and I, from two totally different generations of baseball fans, can only keep our passion for so long.