In 2010, I had the privilege of going to a post season baseball game in Atlanta. Along with the emotion of seeing a childhood idol retire, the game was a furry of insanity. Here, in a piece for the Cardinal & Cream newspaper, I describe the occasion and examine sports' influence and relation to society. Hope you enjoy!
View from the Seats: Postseason Baseball
October 11, 2010
Patriotism.
Religion. Fanhood.
If
you were to examine world culture, you find that these three ideologies are at
the heart. While I look at that
list, I think how strange it is that a love for sports can be so intertwined in
culture to be compared with the former two.
Research
in the “Journal of Sport & Social Issues” reported approximately 70 percent
of Americans watch, read or discuss sports at least once a day. This is
compared to 58 percent who say they pray once a day.
Never
was this obsession of sports more evident to me than at Game 3 of the NLDS playoff
series between the San Francisco Giants and Atlanta Braves.
Over
the course of the 2010 season, I had been to five Braves games at Turner Field,
which could easily be described as a “family-friendly” park. However, on this
muggy October evening, fans were not so friendly; they were hostile and determined.
The
Braves had not been to the playoffs since they snapped a streak of
14-consecutive playoff appearances in 2005. Fans were hungry.
As
more than 53,000 fans poured into their seats, so did the desire to win a
championship, not only for their fanhood, but also for the Braves retiring
manager, Bobby Cox. He was the Braves manager for 25 years, a legend of the
game and crowd favorite.
The
urgency of his last season made his pregame introduction comparable to the
front row of a Led Zeppelin concert.
However, the roar for the beloved manager paled in comparison to the
fans’ response to going live on national TV. Just as TBS started its coverage
of the game, Braves fans erupted into their traditional hymn: the “Tomahawk
Chop.”
I
have been a part of many Tomahawk Chops, even some as random as in the Brewer
Dining Hall, but never one as thrilling or significant as this. It was our war
cry. It was our song. It was our oath of allegiance.
Turner
Field had turned into an eerie, haunted corridor filled with mindless fans
waving red foam tomahawks in sheer violence. We came for victory, but in that
moment, we wanted blood.
While
it sounds exaggerated, the feeling was undeniable. From the first pitch to the
last, each moment was focused and intense. Bathroom breaks and concession runs
were out of the question, as every second commanded the attention of the
crowd.
However,
the fans’ joyous concentration did not last long, as a sad turn of events
altered the mood.
Braves
regular season hero and second baseman, Brooks Conrad, fumbled a ground ball in
the first inning and dropped a pop fly in the second inning to allow the first
run of the game. While Conrad was known for his late inning heroics, his poor
fielding had plagued him in the last few games of the season and carried over
into the playoffs. In his last eight games of the year, Conrad committed nine
errors, including three on this night.
There
is a fine line between a party and a riot—only poor circumstances differ the
two—and Turner Field was in an outrage. Some fans were yelling in hostility for
him to be taken out of the game, but Conrad’s favorability had not been
completely squandered. Yet.
Each
game between the Braves and Giants in 2010 was an intense pitching duel with relatively
low scoring. Conrad’s blunder put Braves fans in constant anticipation for a
majority of the game, until the eighth inning.
If
there were two things the Braves proved this season, it was that their bench
players were solid and they excelled in the late innings. The Braves led the National
League with 46 comeback victories and 25 victories in their final at-bat.
So,
when Eric Hinske’s pitch-hit, eighth inning home run cleared the right field
fence, it was stereotypical, but the furthest thing from ordinary.
As
I sit here and try to think of an illustrative, hypothetical situation to guide
your mind to imagining this moment, all I can think of are natural disasters
and explosions.
Even
these phenomena do not compare to the experience I shared with 53,286 fans that
were, at that moment, my family. As I hugged random strangers, slapped hands
with senior citizens and watched in amusement as intoxicated fans gyrated their
body in unforeseen ways, I was overwhelmed by an ominous, joyous chant. Louder
and stronger than ever, the sea of red foam appeared again as we recited once
more the creed of the Tomahawk Chop.
Order
was restored again. We had done it once more. Victory was three outs away;
three very long outs.
Atlanta’s
new villain, once again showed his face. In the top of the ninth inning, Conrad
let a simple ground ball roll right under his glove, allowing the go-ahead run
to score.
Shock.
Frustration. Mass hysteria.
It
all happened so fast. On an emotional road as crooked as it was long,
Atlanta fans did not know how to
feel. Some resulted to furiously yelling, while some just sat and stared.
It
is hard to be a fan of someone you hate.
The
game was over. We did not even have to bat in the bottom of the ninth inning to
know it was too much to overcome.
In
one of the longest car rides of my life from Atlanta to Jackson that night, I
considered this article and this is what I concluded.
Sports
and entertainment are vital to a thriving culture. Besides the relief it offers
from a dull, monotonous life, sports provides an element other forms of
entertainment and media cannot provide: the unpredictability of human error.
Conrad’s
errors left him in a theater of shame, surrounded by more than 53,000 angry
people. Leaving the field, several fans wanted to wait by the player’s gate and
follow Conrad home to “torch the place.” We are passionate about sports and the
teams we love.
Although
fans were furious leaving the stadium, on the way home and a few at work the
next day, eventually they realized their love for their team was stronger than
their hate for that terrible moment. No matter how the season ends, a true fan
always comes back the next season.
Fanhood
is the perfect example of forgiveness and grace. Fans rely on other people to be
perfect, but quickly learn they are not. People disappoint. Friends get mad.
Friends forgive. It is an intricate and necessary part of culture.
-RH
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