The Off-Season

Magglio Ordonez spoiled my son's afternoon. Or at least part of it. When Detroit's right fielder lifted Huston Street's pitch high into the midwest sky, the Oakland A's season came to an end. My son watched the home run. Then he watched the replay, just to be certain that the ball really cleared the fence in left field. The Athletics were going home and the Tigers were going to the World Series. "Darn!" he said, using his most effective expletive, "Darn! Darn! Darn!" He stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind him. I let him alone with his feelings.
This was the first year that my son was seriously affected by the spectator sports bug. I take complete responsibility for it, and only wish that I could have found a way to cushion this latest blow. The A's are his team. He attended his first game when he was only a month old. Since that time, his focus has increased right along with his appreciation of the game. He has a dozen team pennants hanging on the wall next to his bed, with the green and yellow Oakland team banner right above his head. He has begun collecting baseball cards. He liked Frank "The Big Hurt" Thomas, but his favorite player was Nick Swisher. These two guys took an ill-timed vacation from hitting during the American League Championship Series, combining for just one hit in four games.
Still, yesterday we watched our team battle to a 3-3 tie in the bottom of the ninth inning. There was still hope for extra innings. Then a history making four game return to glory, and a trip to the Fall Classic. Instead, Street gave up two singles with two outs - and then Ordonez sent the Detroit fans out into the streets to party the way American League Champions do. My son went to the television in his parents' bedroom and watched an episode of "Transformers." He learned the lesson of baseball fans for more than one hundred years: There's always next year. But for now, there are robots in disguise.