Designated Hitter

Yesterday afternoon, I was putting the finishing touches on my week at school. I put Monday's schedule on the board. I made a few copies. I straightened some desks. I put math tests in my bag to take home and grade. I was intentionally lingering on a Friday afternoon. I was lingering because I was also listening to the final three innings of the Oakland A's and Minnesota Twins playing game three in their American League Division Series.
When Marco Scutaro (anyone outside of the East Bay area will be excused for asking, "Who?") slapped a drive down the right field drive and drove in three runs, I fought back the urge to hoot and holler. I did raise my hands in the air as the score moved from a comfortable 5-2 lead to an insurmountable 8-2. My team was about to sweep the Twins and move along to play for the American League Championship.
It was good news for a change. It was happy news in a town that doesn't get a lot of it. I wasn't always an A's fan. When I moved to Oakland, I had expected to latch on to the Giants of San Francisco - the National League franchise. There is a deeply held belief in my family (okay, my brother and I) that everybody should have to hit, even the pitchers. I went to a few games at Candlestick (or Monster.com) Park and watched an upper-middle class crowd take in the show with a mixture of pride and smugness. I made the mistake - once - of wearing a Colorado Rockies cap to a Giants game. Fiercely loyal to the point of absurdity, Giants fans were ready to tear into anyone who wasn't "of the body." A few years passed, and I went out to see a game at their new telecommunications-related park. I can't for the life of me remember what company is currently holding the naming rights on their stadium. It's a nice place to watch a game - an even better place to watch a Bruce Springsteen concert. The snobbery of the Giants and their fans along with the ugly drama that is the Barry Bonds show kept me from rushing back.
By stark contrast, I was able to wander into the Oakland Coliseum (now sponsored by a computer security company - why?) and sit in the upper deck for a much lower price and watched the game with a group of knowledgeable fans. This is a much more urban, working class crowd. They love their team with the same passion as the folks across the bay, but are more tolerant of visitors, at times even welcoming. Sure, the pitchers don't have to bat, but you can watch the game without fearing for your life.
There is something about having a hometown connection. My son is proud to call the A's his team. He is fortunate to be born into a baseball world with a rich history: The 1989 "Earthquake Series," Reggie Jackson, Dennis Eckersly, Ricky Henderson, and now Marco Scutaro. It's a vicarious little thrill ride, but every day is a new chance. We're a line drive away from taking the lead, and that feels good.