Here’s my impression of you begging me to write a blog about the Colorado Rockies: Adam, everyone is writing so much about the Rockies we really want to hear your perspective! We remember you championing them in print long ago this season; also, we remember your many tales about supporting this team irregardless of how they were doing since their inception in 1993! Plus you’re really handsome and your playoff beard kicks ass! So please, Adam, please, tell us what it’s like for you, a real baseball fan – Christ, a real Rockies fan - to see this team go to the World Series!
Not a chance, pathetic web-reader, with your sticky fingers and atrophying torso. But good Christ-drop there at the end of your rant; almost made me want to tell you how I’m feeling as a result of my new-found soft-spot for the Jesus, on account of Rockies personnel big-upping J.C. in the National League Championship awards ceremony. Almost. But while my paternal feelings of pride for this team shall remain a secret, spilled only after several beers with knowledgeable baseball folk whom I deem appropriate, I will tell you who I want the Rockies to play in World Series: the Boston Red Sox.
Does my yearning to play the BoSox stem from a desire to see my many Masshole friends with whom I attended college unhappy if we pummel them? Yes. But does my yearning to pummel the BoSox also stem from a desire to see the women of New England with black eyes? Absolutely not. In fact, I resent the implication. The truth of the matter is that if the Cleveland Indians go on to the World Series against the Colorado Rockies, the rest of the nation will turn off their televisions and declare the season over. Because no one really cares about the Indians and despite our magical 21 out of 22 streak, the rest of the country could not give a damn about our Colorado Rockies. No, not even Chris Iannetta. But if the Sox are in the series, baby, the rest of the country watches. Because the Sox are baseball royalty, as can be ascertained by their bloated payroll and wife-beating fans, and regardless of who they’re playing, the country tunes in to watch them. And if we’re playing them, that means more people watching our boys. Think about it. If it’s a Colorado/Boston World Series, all of New York will tune in and support the Rockies against their arch rivals. That’s the entire New York media market following the little Rockies that could! That’s the kind of good exposure this team deserves.
Now I’m sure there are some pundits that would argue that we would rather play Cleveland because we match up better against them and because despite having the best defense in history, there is no defending Papi and Manny’s home-runs. And those are valid points. And I’m sure there are also some pundits who will say that it’s better if no one is watching, that way the stock of our players doesn’t rise dramatically and we can keep them on the payroll longer. Valid point number two, imaginary pundits. But I don’t care about any of that because I have faith in this team. I’m not going to get cocky and make predictions – nay, I’ve taken a cue from the Rocks and taken it one game at a time for the past month, never getting ahead of myself – but if this does go down as the greatest run in the history of the game, if the Rockies do manage to win the World Series – knock wood, knock wood, knock wood – then I want everyone and their mom to see it. I want every set of eyes in the country to be glued to the television screen when the Rockies complete the most improbable race to the championship in the history of the game.
That way years from now, when I’m sitting in some bar in Pittsburgh after one of my many, many successful book readings, and the conversation turns to baseball, I’ll be able to bring up my favorite team of all time, the 2007 Colorado Rockies and everyone will know what I’m talking about. They won’t look at me like I’m crazy, or I don’t operate well at low altitudes, they’ll just nod their heads in agreement and recognition and then someone will buy me a drink.
“Sure I remember that team,” that drunk will affirm, sliding over a shot of whiskey. “Holliday was a monster that year.”
Then I’ll tip the shot back and listen as another drunk starts up about that 2007 team.
“Hey Marty,” that drunk will yell at some other guy, this guy a guy who’s wearing a Red Sox cap. “Wasn’t that the Series you got arrested for beating up your old lady?”
Then out of nowhere Marty will smash the guy who asked that stupid question with a pool cue across his face. And I’ll walk out of the bar giving Marty a safe distance. -- Adam Cayton-Holland