August Wilson Baseball, Superstition, Hopes, and Dreams

John Faiell

            I got the call midday from my friend Rena; her husband George who works for the Tampa Bay Rays had two complementary tickets to the fifth and final game of the playoffs against the Texas Rangers.  She asked if I would like to take her to the game, as she knew no one would appreciate going as much as I would.  To say the least I was a bit overwhelmed, I had already conceded to seeing the final three or four innings of the game on TV when I got home from class that evening.  I told Rena I would give her a call back as I as I needed to contemplate what I was going to do.  Decision, decision, decisions…  I knew it was in the stars to go, how many times do you get a chance to see a final playoff game, and how many times do you get to attend a creative writing class?  Logic told me quickly that chances were slim on the game, and next week the writing class would still be there.  With mind made up, and lucky shirt and cap on, I made the call to confirm, picked Rena up at seven, and off to the game we went. 

            God, I was excited, after our club had fallen behind two games to none, and then came back over the weekend to draw even in the five game series setting the stage for the possibility of this remarkable comeback, and winning today.  Entertaining the thought that a higher power was at play here I found myself entrenched in the many ways we were going to win.  The mood was no different for several thousand other fans as they congregated outside of the stadium before piling in.  The banter was loud and contagious as the energy maintained an atmosphere of hope and excitement.  It is not every day that we are surrounded by thousands of people that are all on the same page, expressing energy, and hope with a true sense that we are all together in this happening.  I saw it in there faces, and in there openness of demeanor;  Smiles and laughter were everywhere you looked. People hugging each other, and high fives all around; it could have resembled a (love in) from the sixties (if it were not for all the clothing and short hair.)

            We got to our nice second tier seats and settled in, I in seat 12 and Rena in 11 After sitting for a moment she asked to be excused to meet her husband in some employees only section of the stadium;  I immediately took her seat as it had a luckier number then mine.  It was still a good 30 minutes before game time, and I took this moment to take in my surroundings, and daydream for a moment about how great all of this was, and a Rays win would only be fitting to round out this magical happening.  I came back to reality when my first section seating mates came to my left sitting down next to me.  A father and his seven-year-old son, both with glove in hand and a sparkle on there face.  With introductions out of the way, the father and I talked baseball trivia with the son interjecting ever once in while, proud of his knowledge.  With game time approaching, along came my neighbor to my right who in an aggressive agitated voice proclaimed that I was sitting in her seat.  I looked up and said “I don’t believe so mam,  look at your ticket” She did, realized her mistake, and with out a word of apology nor any recognition of being section mates over the next three hours proceeded to turn her back on me and engage in conversation with her friends.  This was bad energy, and I wrote it off quickly by not having an effect on the game nor me.  The banter and chatter of the section was beginning to pick up as everyone was getting comfortably with each other and the anticipation of the first pitch moments away.  

            We roared as one, when our pitcher threw the first strike.  The game had begun with the first three innings producing an ebb and flow of competitive action that stirred the crowd of 40,000 people to crescendos of hysteria.  By the mid innings, a light tension set in, bathed in hope and anticipation that slightly quieted the crowd to a roar as both teams played each other equally.  The banter continued in my section as we proceeded to cover the pros and cons of the game, all giving our expert insight into what should or should not have happened.  Never once, did the folks to my right ever pitch in with a comment outside of there small three person group in which I only overheard negative comments on the dismay for our team.  

            The mood of the game changed again as we moved into the late innings with the opposition taking a commanding lead; no longer did you here the bellowing of chatter, nor the howling of excitement coming from the crowd as they were now reduced to a reserved cheer, with an occasionally howl of encouragement or worse, displeasure.  I glanced over to Father and son with three outs left in the bottom of the ninth inning, and our team severely behind.  There they were engulfed in conjuring up all the possibilities of how our team was going to come back and win.  I on the other hand was discouraged but slightly relived to see my section mates to my right take an early departure as they overly voiced their distaste of the teams’ performance.  

            The final out came, and the game was over.  I stood for a moment and watched the jubilation on the field by the Texas Rangers, there were smiles and laughter, hugs, and high fives going around oddly enough I could not help but smile, feeling relieved in knowing that the hopes and dreams were attained for some at this event.  They were now going on to play for the pennant, and privilege of being in the World Series and our team and fans were now going home to watch it on TV.  I bid my goodbyes to my section mates along with and father with son.  The boy looked up at me with determination saying flatly “will get them next time” I knew at that moment all was good and that I was going to leave this happening with the same excitement of wonder and hope that I came with.

            On my way out of the stadium to meet Rena, and her husband George I continued to notice smiling faces, and banter, maybe not with the same ferocity as previously exhibited, but non the less positive hoots and hollers expressing that we will live to fight another day. 

    By the way, we lost because of the negative bad energy brought into the stadium by those folks sitting next to me. 

Could it be that I am a superstitious baseball fan.