Fall and winter have passed. It is finally time to see what’s been simmering in the Indians’ kitchen.
Today is the day where boundless optimism reigns supreme; even if it’s likely still too much to ask in the long run (hello, Houston). For the Indians, however, folks far and wide, including us, don’t know how the headline-grabbing bonanzas of the past few months will shake out. Most have us finishing around third or fourth. Some are feeling charitable and placing the Tribe in the mix, or even securing a Wild Card berth. It might be easier to just pick outcomes out of a hat and see what we all get.
And that’s perfect. Because that is greatest part of Opening Day or Night: We get to dream about the Tribe proving the critics and naysayers wrong. We get to visualize how every break would go in our favor; how the Tribe could be standing on top of the mountain for the first time in sixty-five years.
But as we all know, the Baseball Deities have a peculiar senses of humor. Testing our faith and mettle by placing us against the other big mover and shaker in the American League, and prohibitive choice of represent the AL in October in my adopted backyard of Toronto. And against the reigning National League Cy Young winner, RA Dickey, who owns the dreaded knuckler. As our colleague Ryan McCrystal has explicitly shown to us, the guys haven’t had a whole lot of success against knucklers. But maybe the bad, World Baseball Classic version of Dickey will show up, too.
The time for worrying can begin tomorrow, though. Today, win or lose (and hopefully in less than sixteen innings), it’s all about the celebration of the reconstruction of the Indians. And all about what could be awaiting us in September, and just maybe, October.
I agree! For me, the tremendous focus on statistics in sports – particularly baseball – often threatens to overwhelm the fun of just watching the game. There’s even a headline story on The New York Times webpage today about radio announcers introducing WAR into their radio broadcasts. At some point, we have to realize that baseball is inherently unpredictable. Sure, some players and some teams are better than others, but on a given night, it’s (for the most part) anybody’s game.
Here’s to hope and how it spring eternal. Wore my Indians polo shirt to work today; played “Centerfield” by John Fogerty a couple of times in the car this moring. I’m ready – “Play Ball!”
As a lifelong Cleveland fan, I was blessed to watch the powerful Tribes from the mid-90’s. These historic teams spoiled the crap out of a 10 year old boy from Ohio. Every year could be “the year”, the Central Pennant and the postseason were a given! As the legends of the 90’s left the Lake, so did my expectations for a successful season.
But there were dreams! Dreams of a Grady/Haf/CC/Cliff/Fauxo team putting it all together. And to match the crushing reality of adulthood, the glorious dreams of a title in TribeTown died.
While remaining the Ohio SportsFan pessimist I am, those whispers of the unconscious have returned to fill my head with expectations.
And what should we expect? Should we all sit down and watch Major League? Have we actually lowered the bar to a World Series appearance? (The brass have done a fantastic job assembling a real life version of that staff btw!)
Yes. Yes we surely have. What Cleveland fan wouldn’t be THRILLED to even make the playoffs?
These expectations will surely do us all in.
Go Tribe! Go Bleachers John! It’s TribeTime once again!
…Now if Detroit could have some injuries that could really help us out.