Month: April 2016

If in centuries to come, there is an anthropological study done on those of us who occupied North America in the 21st century, I think they will footnote our insane penchant for sports.  I mean, as a culture, we crazy.

We care deeply about the athletic performance of grown men and women we will never know, and spend countless hours (and thousands of dollars) watching, empowering, near demanding our offspring compete.

We are, as we say, “all in”.

Absurd as our mania can be, every now and again we are the beneficiaries of a grander, more noble effect these sports of ours are capable of producing.

Such was the case for my family in the fall of 2014.

Baseball provided some breathing room for my really sad boys thrust into life-altering change.

We arrived in Kansas City mid-summer, having moved away from the epicenter of cool that is Austin, Texas, and right away, my sophomore and I settled into a nightly ritual of Royal watching.  It was what we looked forward to most; he, so he wouldn’t be reminded that he knew no one at school, and I, to forego for an inning or two, the burden a mother bears when she must let her babies flounder before they can fly. Those rare nights the Royals had off, we were genuinely bummed.  Cain, Salvy, Gordo – they’d become our buds.  I’ll admit I had to remind myself a few times that technically I could be Hoz’s mother – big ole smile and winning personality and what-not.

But I digress.

We were firmly acquainted with the team when time came for the city’s first playoff game in 29 years…and it was a Wild one.  My dad, brother and nephew had seats at The K, and we were texting fools. “What’s it like there?” “Send me pics!” You know because you do the same thing.

In our house that night, there was no lounging, no leisurely watching.  We each sought outlets for our rising nervous energy. Late in the game, down 7 to 3, my hard-working, exhausted husband, said his good nights.  Amid our pleas and protests he said – and I quote – “I know, I know; I’m going to miss the greatest comeback in Royals history.”  I can still picture exactly where everyone was in the room when he said it and the stunned silence that followed, because he seemed to mean it.

If you’re a KC fan, you won’t ever forget the unlikely manner in which his prediction became one of epic proportions…nor the crazed, delirious jubilation that spilled from every house, on every street, in every quadrant north or south of the river, east or west of the state line.

It was definitely a moment.

Meanwhile, my brother was screaming into his phone (because texting, at this point, seemed wholly insufficient), “this is the greatest game I’ve ever seen in my life…in any sport!”

Whoa.

Had the Royals really just given baseball its man-card back?  I believe so.

After that Wild Card win, for the first time in my vast sports-viewing experience, I noted how much I was enjoying myself during the games. No stressing, no superstishing, no providential deal-making. It was so nice! I felt like I was watching an unknown Shakespearean drama unfold, with heroes and subplots galore; our own Kansas City masterpiece that I had a sense would live well beyond its October shelf life.

The Royals were brilliantly going about their business, reminding us that life indeed is good.

Aside from near nightly watch parties with family and friends, what I’ll take with me for a long time to come is how each game, a different player stepped up.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Every Salvy-soaked player-of-the-game, deflected personal praise in favor of team.  Reporters seeking to highlight individual awesomeness, got the same response every time: Deference. Humility.  Are we still talking about sports here? What an example for my boys.  Seriously.

The Royals supported rather than undermined our collective parenting efforts to raise ego-less kids.  #thatswhatteamdo

In my opinion, their spectacular play-making was unprecedented. Be it outstanding defense or extra inning walk-off victories powered by big bats and speedy base running, athletic prowess was on display, reminding the nation that baseball is not just a way to pass the time. And this while sporting jerseys with the name of our fine city etched across the front of them.  Honestly, I’ve never felt so cool with a rally towel.

The Royals gave an entire people group feelings of legit bad-assery!

Which brings me to October 15, 2014.  A day the sky was as blue as I’d ever seen.  A day when anyone over the age of 40 who’d grown up in KC, was unexpectedly overwhelmed with emotion. We were back. The World Series would no longer be linked to high school in the stories we told.  We were relevant again; in the majors, in our families, and in our shared experiences.

The Royals reminded a city who they are:  a hometown envied not for beaches or mountain views or recognizable skylines, but for pride in our people, for loyalty in the face of longevity.

Quite simply, we are KC.

So you can be sure that the heartbreaking, deflating, 7th game, 9th inning terrible loss, would not be the end of this story.  We’d come back in a year with a 5th game, 9th inning, break to home plate on a routine ground ball that defied all logic — unless you had lived through the wrenching pain of a man left stranded at third.

Then you would know exactly why the risk was worth the take, why the audacity to replace a memory could propel a player, a person, to greatness.

But we would need to dig deep, play the game well and survive another grueling season if we were going to witness that greatness.

And so it goes in life.

There is pain and there is glory in every place you find yourself.

Assembling a team takes time, but when done right, has the power to produce some kind of wonderful.

We know.  We live in KC and cheer for world champions.

Welcome home boys.