If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s baseball is very superstitious. Todd Helton is not only the Toddfather, but the Father of Superstition as well. For example, he recently shaved off all his facial hair. Most would accredit this to his 0-15 slump, however; Todd will tell you it was a mistake he made while shaving. Todd’s had the same facial hair for quite some time, but… I guess everyone can make a mistake, although I’m not entirely sure it was one. Now, he grew it back, but he did get a hit that day.
Since watching baseball, I’ve begun to become a little superstitious myself. Let’s rewind to two days ago, the first day of the postseason:
I was set. 12 hours of baseball and an HD TV.
The only thing that was missing was the beer. Of course, being a lightweight, 12:37 was a little early to start my drinking, so it wasn’t terribly missed. Yeah, sometimes it pays to be asian (cheap date).
I sat down; ready to watch the Rockies take on the Phillies. 12 hours of baseball meant I wasgoing to sit in my pajamas and my new Rockies sweatshirt.
“Bring on that Rocktober magic.”
No doubt, there was magic… that is, up until the fifth inning of that game. The Rockies gave up five runs between the fifth and sixth, suddenly, the magic entering the game seemed to fade. The Rockies faces lacked the luster they had when the first pitch was thrown, and the sheen of being the team to start off the playoffs right was deteriorating before my eyes.
“Wh… what is happening?!”
However, the brilliance of Cliff Lee certainly did not lack. Credit must be given where credit is due, and that guy? He was spot on. Giving up six hits and one run, throwing a complete game.
If we’re taking the Harold Reynolds approach, “here’s a guy” who wasn’t even talked about during the trade deadline. It was all about Roy Halladay and the possibility of him moving to the Phils. So, Cliff Lee? That acquisitioin seemed to pay off (possibly understatement of the year).
My beloved Rockies would fall to the Phillies that day, and it hurt. Bad.
I had looked so forward to this moment, to this game, and now that the Rockies had taken such a beat down… it was like my soul hurt.
“It’s just game one… it’s just game one.” It was like being in the Wizard of Oz and reciting tomyself, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” We can come back… we have o come back.
The Rockies have been on fire at home, so in reality there really is “no place like home.”
Next up was the Twins and Yankees game. For the most part, I didn’t care tons. Sorry TWinkies, but the Yanks are a damn good team, I don’t see many beating them out despite my dearest friend’s opinion.
However, I was cheering for the Twins. With the Red Sox, being my number two team, there is certainly no room for Yankees cheering.
Although the Twins would strike first, the Yankees would be quick to respond. I watched, yet again, as the team I had hoped to see win fell.
I have one more chance for redemption. The Cardinals are my number three team.
“Please don’t fail me.”
How could they? An ace on the mound, Albert “God” Pujols, Matt “Everyday’s a holiday” Holliday, no way, the Cards had to win.
However, I faced disappointment. Again.
The Dodgers would not let up, pushing runs, pushing defense. Both teams had amazing scoring opportunities, in fact, they had a combined total of 30 men left on base! But the Cardinals just couldn’t catch a break.
I couldn’t catch a break either. All three teams I wanted to see win lost that day. After that Rockies loss, it was like adding insult to injury.
My sweatshirt had failed me. “How can this be?” The first thing I did when I got it was sprayed linen spray on it and called it “not smelling like it came out of the maufacturer’s ten minutes ago.” You know, that new clothes smell, but not nice new clothes…?
When I first got my Matt Daley shirt, I went and watched the game with my good friend after being super domesticated. It was that day when Rafael Betancourt gave up a grand slam.My shirt had failed me that day, but after washing it, it’s won every time I’ve worn it.
The same had to be done with my sweatshirt. It needed a wash; the stench of loss is far worse than any “new sweatshirt” smell. I was confident in my sweatshirt’s winning capability after the wash. I was ready for game two.
And what a game two it was.
The Rockies came out swinging, and before I knew it, we were up 4-0. Aaron Cook was on fire! Which was good considering it’d been some time since he pitched. However, worry struck in the sixth inning when Cook’s sinker was no longer sinking and the Phillies would start a rally that felt like it wouldn’t end. Huston Street came into the ninth inning and was able to shut down the Phillies, and now the series is tied after a nail biting 5-4 win.
Next was the Cardinals game. I felt confident in the ability of my sweatshirt after that. The Rockies won after I washed my sweatshirt, it was like my Matt Daley shirt. “Cardinals, don’t prove me wrong.”
The Cardinals, however, would. But I can’t be entirely sure it was my sweatshirt. When I left the Cards to hit the grocery store, they were up 2-1. I didn’t want to leave, but my dad needed me to go get dinner since he was sick. I returned to find the Cardinals had lost, not only that, but Matt Holliday had a huge error.
Suddenly, I realized… it was my fault. I left at a critical point in the game. How could I do that to the Cardinals? I left, wearing my sweatshirt, to go to the grocery store. I failed the Cardinals… and now they’re 0-2.
I had to move on, it was time for my number two team, and I couldn’t go into it feeling guilt ridden. However, I would miss various portions due to eating dinner and putting together a shelf. The Angels would win the game 5-0. Once again, I left down another team, this time my beloved Red Sox.
So, the sweatshirt would win the Rockies game for me… but I had no one to blame but myselffor the other losses. I should’ve known better than to leave a game at such a crucial point. I should’ve waite
d to put together that shelf.
It’s superstition, and it’s gotten the best of me. Suspicious of my sweatshirt, my Daley shirt, my baseball socks, all these things.
I may not adjust my batting gloves after every pitch like Troy Tulowitzki or take my hat off and readjust it on my head like Huston Street after he throws a pitch; but everyone’s got their quirks, their habits. And now, I have mine.