We lost. The end. The Cleaners beat us 3-2 and we tip our caps to them. It was an intense game, but at the end of the day the Cleaners walked away with the “W” and moved into the playoffs. Truth be told, I don't remember too much of the game because it was almost two months ago now-- sorry for that. Long and short: Our season was cut shorter than we would’ve liked, but that’s baseball.
THE REAL PURPOSE OF THIS POST:
... a bid farewell.
The 2017 season was, at a distance, something special.
Anytime you’re playing baseball it’s special, but this
season had an emotional trajectory unlike the last. The season meandered along for some time at
the beginning, all was normal to start.
A parallel expectation and reality in an organic perpetuation of the
previous year; we are the reigning champs, we will win almost every game, and that’s
just how it’ll work. Wins, playoffs, the
series, and subsequent hoisting of the trophy at the end of the year were taken
for granted in much the same way our adolescent selves expected Mom/Dad to put
dinner on the table each night, or whatever equivalent your life unfolded for
you in that time where things were easy and without relative burden.
But this year was different. This year was real.
The season offered emotional transitions that, again, at a
distance, manifested in ways that remind you that moments matter. Each moment matters. Losing matters, perhaps more than winning. Progressing slowly, sometimes abruptly, into
the chasm of ever-decreasing mathematical probability is a journey worth
taking. Not just as a cliché reminder to
not take winning for granted, but to remind ourselves that what’s important,
what’s really important, is that one
day this will all be gone.
Getting to the point in the season where it’s potential
atomization may be a product of each game was a sort of obtuse reminder of just
how much fun this game— it is just a game, after all— can be. The last handful of games were all must-win,
and that ceaseless feeling for so many weeks moved what had been tumult to a
narrowed focus that I, for one, was proud to be a part of. Pulling out so many good wins, solid wins,
perhaps sometimes unexpected wins, in a row, was, for lack of a more profound
explanation, just fun to be a part
of.
Like most of you, I love baseball. I love how perfect the game is. I love that 90’ bases is the exact right
distance. I love that we play,
essentially, the same game that people have played for over 100 years all over
the world. I love that there are no
whistles like just about every other sport I can think of. I love the nuanced variations in strategy
between every, single, pitch. I love
that introversion is admired, and subsequent boasting is viewed with disdain. I love that, although it’s a team sport, it
comes down to you, the pitcher, and the chess match that is each at-bat. I love that almost every aspect of the game
is quantifiable. Most of all, I love
that baseball allows me to get together a couple times a week for 6+ months to
pretend the real world doesn’t matter, and this one does, with a bunch of guys
I’m proud to call my friends— sincerely.
In hindsight, I’m grateful for this season in a way unlike
the last (2016). I’m grateful for the
conversations with you all leading up to the game; the night before, and, more
often than not, the morning of. The illusionary semblance of the importance of strategy over the fact that we’re
just there pretending that we-- all too old to really be good at this game anymore-- have some divine right to be
out there. This whole thing is, after
all, fleeting, and the less cognizant we are of that fact the more surprised we’ll
be when it’s gone. Maybe that’s what’s
important, though. Is the ease at which
this game offers us a level of ignorance to just how much each of us actually matter the point of the entire
thing; taking it for granted may just be its purpose(?) I’ll stew on that for some time, I suppose.
This much I do know: One
day life will get in the way of this. We’ll
be too old, our careers will take us elsewhere, our partners careers perhaps,
our failing bodies, or the barrage of other obstacles that are constantly being
lobbed our way in our day to day lives will inevitably get in the way of this…
of baseball. I— and I don’t think I’m the
only one— consider it a privilege to play this game with you all. The last two years have provided me/us with
some of the purest fun I can imagine, and I sincerely appreciate each one of
you (not only on the 29ers but the entire league and its fans) for allowing
me/us to be a part of it.
Thank you to everyone for a fun year.
COUPLE FINAL THINGS:
- MILES: A big "thank you" to Miles for managing this year. It's not an enviable position, I'm sure, and probably gets a lot less appreciation from everyone than is deserved, regardless of the seasons outcome. Keeping track of who's playing where in a game, who hasn't played yet, etc., has to be challenging, so thanks for putting the energy into it that you did.
- RICKEY: This guy lugged around the gear the entire year-- not fun, I'm sure. Also, for as good as he is at the game, to show up to every single practice like he does is a pretty epic thing. He certainly doesn't need it more than anyone else and he still shows up every Wednesday night. I, and I'm sure others, respect the shit out of that.
- RAY: As someone who has attempted to write something worthwhile in the blog for just a handful of weeks, I can tell you it's not exactly something you look forward to. I didn't realize when I'd originally started reading Ray's posts just how much he, as the author, likely racked his brain to come up with something worthwhile for the readers. Thanks for that, Ray. It's some of the most clever/interesting stuff I've read, and was something I looked forward to digesting each week.
I’m looking forward to 2018, and I hope you are too.
In the meantime, I’ll see you all at the banquet on Saturday-- should be fun.
-Scott
STATSSSS
