October 2, 2007
Dear Rockies Fans,
I take it all back.
I mean it this time, too.
To those of you who sauntered into sections 119 through 142 two innings late, toting toddlers you didn't protect from foul balls while you sipped microbrews and talked about anything but baseball: You may still be yuppie scum, but I don't hate you for it anymore.
To those of you who wouldn't cheer unless instructed to do so by a cloying "Get Loud" animation on the Jumbotron, even if the team was one run behind in the bottom of the ninth with two on and two outs: I will never again wish you had just stayed home to watch Dancing with the Stars.
To you, Sir, who was more upset that the Tornadough guy had closed up shop than you were about a loss to the Marlins: I won't ever again curse your fat, ugly mother for procreating.
We Believe Local Journalism is Critical to the Life of a City
Engaging with our readers is essential to Westword's mission. Make a financial contribution or sign up for a newsletter, and help us keep telling Denver's stories with no paywalls.
Support Our Journalism
Nay, Rockies fans. In the time I spent with you at Coors Field over the last four days, I learned that you are not all the mouth-breathing, overdogging, know-nothing-about-any-other-sport-than-football cretins I have always thought you to be.
Sure, on Friday, while the Rockies were down to the Diamondbacks, you did the wave. But, by Saturday night, you mainly abandoned this ritual for more baseball-appropriate fan antics. You know, like cheering. Thank you. On Sunday, as the Brewers battled back to save us from oblivion by beating the Padres, you went mental every time the manual scoreboard operators added another Brew Crew run to the right-field wall.
Marijuana Deals Near You
And last night silenced me forever. You were on your feet for most of a grueling four-and-a-half-hour, gut-wrenching epic of game, screaming when Atkins hit that home run that was called back (but we got it back, didn't we Matt "No Tag" Holliday?), pulling your hair out when Hurdle brought in Corpas in the ninth when it wasn't a save situation, and stifling back the nervous vomit when San Diego went ahead by two runs in the 13th and TREVOR FUCKING HOFFMAN came lumbering in from the bullpen. You were there to see history with me. You cheered at the right times with little or no prompting from the Jumbotron.
And for creating a fan experience that rivaled anything I've seen at Fenway or Wrigley, I'd like to say thanks. When we spilled out onto the street, blocking traffic as we paraded down Wynkoop still chanting "Let's go Rockies," I looked around and finally saw what I always hoped was there and just waiting to show itself: A fan base of which I could not be more proud to be a part. I am humbled, and I will never call you a douchebag again. See you on Saturday. -- Sean Cronin