Why I Can't Support the Cubs and Aroldis Chapman

I'm sad today. Really, heartbreakingly sad. I am actually crying.

My love for the Cubs is as much a part of my identity as my eye color. It's shaped my personality. It's where I've met many of my friends and why I have any twitter followers at all. Everyone knows I love baseball, but that I REALLY love Cubs baseball.

And today, I will lose that part of me.

Aroldis Chapman is the fastest-throwing pitcher in baseball, and maybe ever. He's incredible to watch. Last year at Wrigley, when he was pitching for the Reds against us, everyone, including me, checked the MPH after every pitch, oohing and ahhing as the numbers climbed over 100 MPH.

Here is Chapman pitching 100 mph to Matt Szczur at Wrigley last year.

Shortly before spring training this year, Aroldis Chapman's girlfriend placed a 911 call. According to her report, Chapman choked her. She escaped and hid in some bushes in her yard, and in anger, Chapman fired eight shots into the garage wall. You can read about it here.

Later, she recanted the story in a couple different ways, but both she and Chapman admitted that he had lain hands on her. And, anyway, the bullet holes were still there.

In a brave and bold move by MLB, and in accordance to their new anti-domestic violence policy, Chapman was suspended for 30 games, despite the fact that criminal charges were not filed. He accepted the suspension and said he had executed poor judgment by shooting his gun, but that he had done nothing wrong to his girlfriend. You can read about it here.

(See above where he admitted that he had lain hands on her.)

So, after his 30-game vacation, he came back to the Yankees, and the Cubs just acquired him in a trade for several prospects. The Cubs and Chapman released a statement saying that they had a stern talk with Chapman and told him he had to be a good boy if he was a Cub. He said he would. They feel that he will be fine. Chapman said he already dealt with it and is working on his relationship and doesn't want to talk about it. You can read the pathetic statements here.

I could have taken a meaningless, "I'm sorry I did this, but---", because at least that would be SOMETHING. But in all of Chapman's statements, he has made it clear that he has done nothing wrong to his girlfriend. I would even take a pathetic, obviously PR-driven move of his making a donation to a DV shelter or something, because that would at least say, "Well, I didn't do anything, but I hope I can help people when something DOES happen." But he is through talking about it. It didn't happen.

I get that this may not matter to you. I get that you may have never stood between one of your best friends and her husband as he swung his fists, and then watched her go back to him a few days later because she just knew he would never do it again. I get that you may have never looked into the empty eyes of a survivor of domestic violence who has convinced herself that she doesn't deserve any better than the backhand of her partner.

I can't share most of what I have seen of the domestic violence world because of client-counselor confidentiality. But here's what I will share--some statistics here. And some here. My favorite stat is that only 25% of assaults are reported to the police. The cases that actually go to court are lower. The cases with conviction are even lower.

It would be easy to say the girlfriend was lying, that this is all about money, that who cares what he does off the field when he throws so darn hard on the field. It would be easy to stay a Cubs fan, because for the first time in FOREVER, it actually IS easy to be a Cubs fan. They're winning and making history and being overall adorable. I named my cats after Rizzo and Bryant, for Pete's sake. If you know me at all, you know that my love for the Cubs surpasses almost everything, and that I would never speak ill of them unless I felt it was important to do so.

We all have causes close to our hearts because of our personal experiences, jobs, ethnicity, etc. This is a cause close to mine. I am disappointed that winning means more than character. I am disappointed that this glorious season will be tainted by this man. I don't know how deep I will boycott the Cubs, but I will not be able to support them at the same level I have in the past.

Goodbye, Cubs. See you after the free agent market opens. I hope he's gone by then. My being gone will mean nothing to the Cubs--they will probably have more fans than ever. But I will be able to do my job without feeling like a hypocrite.

This is how I'm handling it. It's up to you how you will.

My Dad and Baseball and Father's Day

My dad died two and half years ago. It's an ache I carry with me every day, although I have grown used to the pain, and, like a bad knee or a bad back, I don't really notice it anymore unless it gets poked.

After my parents divorced, my dad and I spent awkward weekends in his studio apartment in Chicago, bored out of my mind and counting the minutes until I could go home. I was miserable.

Then, when I was 14, I discovered baseball. I discovered Mark Grace and Ryne Sandberg, Robin Ventura and Craig Grebeck. And I discovered that baseball was beautiful and complex and perfect, and that the players were stone-cold foxes. But the best thing I discovered was that my dad and I finally had something to talk about and do together. Those miserable weekends became something I looked forward to. My dad, who was totally sexist, began to value my baseball opinion. We talked well into the night.

He took me to my first Cubs games, a doubleheader against the Reds. I wasn't prepared for the beauty. We walked in under the big red marquee, and we walked through the dark tunnel, and then up the stairs into the bright sunlight and saw the greenest green my eyes have ever seen. Our seats were right behind home plate, where I could hear every expletive muttered by the players and the blue of their pinstripes was so vivid against the whites of their uniforms. I fell in love that day, and I have been in love ever since. Later that season, he took me on the field at Wrigley for some kids event. I touched the ivy. I stood on first base and pretended I was Mark Grace. I ran the bases and had one of the greatest day of my life.

My dad and I became very close, and remained close until his death. When I moved to Minnesota for college and stayed there for a decade after, he called me and updated me on everything baseball. For a while, I grew away from the sport, following it only peripherally because I was focusing on college and life. We watched the Cubs in the 2003 playoffs together, despite the distance, by talking on the phone the whole time. I was crying when the Bartman incident happened and everything failed, but he was explaining to me that this was the life of a Cubs fan. He had been through it in 1969 and it taught him to always be cautiously optimistic when it came to the boys in blue.

As my dad got older, he preferred staying home to going to the ballpark. I could get him to go to Comiskey sometimes, but he never wanted to go to Wrigley. So we watched baseball on tv, and shared memories, and talked about the players we liked best. When I bemoaned losing Theriot, he talked up Castro. When Kid K walked off the field that last game, I called my dad, crying, and he said I'd love again. He called after every Steve Clevenger hit or Blake Parker strikeout. When Robin Ventura was named manager of the White Sox, he called me incessantly until I picked up. I always called him after meeting a baseball player, and he always wanted to hear every detail and made me repeat everything. He was always the first one to give me baseball news, but he was also the first one I called to talk about my baseball adventures.

Every Father's Day, I picked up a pizza and went to his house to watch baseball all day. It was our tradition for almost 20 years. Since he's died, I spent those first two Father's Days at baseball games, and I'd get a slice of pizza and sit alone and watch the game and miss my dad.

This year, I decided to hang out with my stepdad and the rest of the family. I was beginning to regret my decision when John Mallee, a wonderful man and the Cubs hitting coach, offered my friends and I on-field batting practice tickets and seats to Saturday's game against the Pirates.

It was surreal. I was standing there, the day before Father's Day, mingling with Kris Bryant and Billy Williams, Wrigley's dirt drifting in my sandals. Our seats were behind home plate. I was back in time. I wanted to call my dad to share with him this unexpected gift. He would have understood that the awe I felt as a child standing on that field was the same awe I felt 20-some years later, standing on that same field. I loved every second of yesterday, and I know he wasn't literally with me, but I think he had a glimpse from heaven of the heaven I felt yesterday.

He would've loved this Cubs team so much. He would've loved Maddon's management style. He would've loved watching Arrieta pitch and Bryant hit. I have wished many times that my dad could watch this team with me, but yesterday, I felt like he did. As crazy as that seems, I felt closer to him on that field than I have felt since I lost him.

Baseball is the connection between my dad and me. I will always have my dad to thank for my love of baseball, but now I have John Mallee to thank for giving us that Father's Day moment.

I miss you, Dad.

My top 11 pet peeves of baseball

Baseball games are my favorite. I'm so relaxed there. Sometimes I go to an area where no one is sitting (easier to do on the South Side than the North Side) and I don't cheer or talk. I just watch the game. Life can be so stressful.

But some things threaten to ruin that peace I get at games, and here they are. I hate to be negative, but I go to a lot of baseball games and I'm an American, so I have decided that I have the right to criticize everything.

In no particular order:

1. The Wave

 

Here are some very attractive British futbol players, who kept starting the wave at The Cell. No. No no no. I don't care that you are handsome and athletic and British. Okay. I care a lot about that. But it isn't enough for me to sit back and let you lead The Wave at a baseball game. I forgive them, though. It's an American law.

 

 

 

In 2011, the Texas Rangers posted this on the big screen:

 

 

 

Here's the thing about The Wave. It's so dumb. I want to watch the game. And what invariably happens is that at some pivotal moment in the game, the wave starts, and everyone is standing, and I can't see, and everyone is like, "Alex, why don't you do the wave?" And I'm like, "BECAUSE I WANT TO WATCH THE GAME, YOU DUMMY!" And I really do say it in capital letters, although I may not call the person a "dummy," because that is just childish.

 

 

Let's also be practical. A stadium doing the wave is likely to be distracting to the players. Just please stop, okay? Please. I'm begging you. I hate it so much. Just stop.

 

2. The Person on Their Cell Phone the Entire Game

 

Now, I like SnapChat and I will definitely Snap a few Chats at any given moment. I've even been known to tweet my feelings during a game on occasion. Feel free to take 800 million pictures, because you know I will. But what I just don't understand is that person who is on the phone texting and facebooking and tweeting and instagramming their food and taking ENDLESS selfies of themselves with their hair over their shoulder, now in front of their shoulder, now with a duck face, etc.

 

Please just stay home and don't waste your money or your loved one's money. It's annoying to watch. Especially if you came with me, and I am the loved one who wasted my money on you. It actually is painful for me to sit next to someone on a phone the whole time.

 

* side note--I am a total hypocrite because a couple weeks ago, I had a work emergency at a Cubs game, and I spent the whole time on my phone, and I was so annoyed and probably annoying to my dear friends Jamie and Erin. I ended up leaving early. It was the worst, but I had to do it. Here I am with them during a pause from texting:

 

 

 

3. People Who Go Up and Down the Aisles the Entire Game

 

This is one reason I love Target Field. They don't stop you from going up, but you can only go down the aisles between hitters. It's so annoying when you can't see what's going on because someone has to go get their 29th beer. 

 

 

4. Wearing a Rival's Jersey to the Home Team's Game Just to be a Jerkface

 

Here's the thing: If you are from out of town and just want to represent your home team because you're away from home, but enjoying the grand world of baseball, I'm fine with that.

 

Exhibit A:

 

I took a group of high school seniors from Minnesota to some California ballparks. Here we are at a San Francisco Giants game representing the Twins. I don't remember who the Giants were playing that day, but it wasn't the Twins. We were just showing our Minnesota pride and not being purposely jerkfaces.

Also, it's perfectly acceptable to represent your own team when your team is actually playing the home team. If two teams I love are playing each other, I generally represent the visitors, because I feel bad for them and want them to know they are still loved, though in a foreign land.

Exhibit B:

Representing Minnesota at The Cell

Representing the White Sox at Target Field
 

Here's what a think is just kind of mean. I live in the Chicago area, and for some reason, many Cubs and White Sox fans feel that you have to hate one if you love the other (a belief I do not agree with at all--I love them both). So, for some reason, these jabronies will go to a Sox game but wear a Cubs hat or vice versa, no matter what random team the home team is playing. I get it--you NEED attention, you spoiled millennial. But just stay home. Don't waste your money or time spreading your hate. Watch the game or go home! I seriously don't get why they even show up.

Oh, look. Here I am at Busch Stadium, home of the worst team in the world, and I am just wearing flowers, because I'm a nice person and not a hater. They were playing the Reds, and I love the Reds, but I just watched the game in my flowers and cheered for Joey Votto.

Exception: Sometimes you are forced to go to the stadium of a team you hate because someone you love says you have to, or maybe you have to for work or something. I think at that point it is fine to wear your team's gear in a silent protest and sign of your passive resistance. But, full disclosure, I won't know this about you and will still be judging you.

And on that note:

5. Home Fans that are Super Rude to Visiting Fans

I get it. The Cardinals are the worst. But when these weirdos from St. Louis drag their arrogant butts to Chicago, and then they lose, or if our guy hits a home run, just leave it alone. Be the bigger person. Jesting in good fun is fine--but generally, it gets out of hand. One of my friends here in Chicago went to a game with her young daughter, and the Cardinals fans started saying horrible things to this 8-year-old. My friend told them off, because she is amazing and basically a wolf protecting her young, but the damage was done. I have been spit at and had beer thrown on me by White Sox fans who didn't like that I was cheering for the Twins one time and the Astros the other.  Another time I was leaving The Cell in my Twins shirt and a guy came up to me and drunkenly screamed in my face that I was a loser.

I was just silently standing there screaming for George Springer to come over because I am in love with him and also because I wanted to get his autograph on this photo to finish the Astros in it, when the poophead behind me spit in my hair because he said he hated Astros fans because they were all Mexican. It was a weird day.

Again, it's fun to tease. My brother is a Yankees fan and I hate the Yankees, and every year I take him to a Yankees game for his birthday, and every year my team loses to the Yankees, and he teases, and I wish for a different life. But no one spits. No one screams hateful things. I have MANY Cardinal-fan friends, and while I constantly re-evaluate why they are still my friends, we manage to have many good convos about our teams, and surprisingly, no one ever dies.

Minnesota, by the way, is always so welcoming to me, no matter which team I am supporting. Minnesotans are the best people on earth. Take a lesson from them, rest of the world, and make your city proud by welcoming its visitors--especially you, Sox fans! Visiting teams' fans fill up the majority of the sold seats at The Cell!

6. The Traffic Police After Games

I hate that they are always waving at you, annoyed, to blow through the stop sign at 90 mph. I hate their judgmental faces. I'M NOT GOING TO GO 90. STOP MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO.

7. Drunk People

Hi, drunk people. Here's the deal. You are not funny. You are not cute. You are gross and loud and you smell. All I want to do is watch the game, but you are sitting near me yelling gross thing at the players, and I am fairly sure in a few moments when the game ends, you will be getting in your car and driving home, and I am sorry for all of the world who is at your mercy while you are behind the wheel.

I was at this game at The Cell against The Rangers

Here's a picture of Brett Lawrie from the game because he's perfect.

and this super drunk guy kept yelling over and over, "I'd KILL myself if I was from Texas. I'd KILL myself if I was from Texas. I'd KILL myself if I was from Texas." Security talked to him, he explained this was a free county, and continued to declare his suicidal leanings based on geography. I was so uncomfortable. One, he wasn't funny; did he think that would be a humorous comment? Two, it was kind of the worst thing to ever say to someone, and I really don't think he was kidding, so it put all of us in the area in a weird position. Like, did we have duty to warn?

Sometimes drunk people let the dancing fly and that can be semi-entertaining, but it never ends well. Always in tears or fighting or falling and bleeding.

Alcohol at games is so expensive and I don't know why you are wasting your money on a game you won't even remember.

8. Kids

Leave them at home.

Just kidding, mostly. Yesterday I sat behind a couple and their kid, and the seats were really expensive, like probably 100 dollar seats (I paid 7 dollars for mine), and the kid was on a video game thing THE WHOLE TIME.

Here's my niece Lainee, who I took to a Twins/White Sox game last year, and we had a blast. I am a hypocrite. So I will say it's okay to take SOME kids.

If your kid doesn't want to be at the game, don't take them. Wait until they want to come. You're going to make your kid hate baseball if you force him or her to suffer through 3 hours of torture (to them).

Also, if you bring a kid to the game and I catch a foul ball or a home run, I'm keeping it. I'm not going to give it to a dumb kid. They have their whole lives to catch their own baseballs, and maybe if they got off the phone or the video game and played baseball outside like a human, or were watching the game, they would have caught the ball instead of me.

*disclaimer: I actually do give a lot of baseballs away to kids during the season, but NEVER if someone says, "Give it to the kid!" I'll give it if I feel like it or if the kid looks like this will make him or her a baseball fan for life.

Which reminds me:

9. Those Who Throw it Back

How can you do that? I don't understand. I have been to thousands of baseball games and have NEVER caught a home run. If I ever get the honor and privilege of catching a home run ball, I am keeping that thing for life. If I'm sitting in the bleachers at Wrigley when this happens, I guess I'll have to run for my life because those people will cut me.

Here's a Joe Mauer autographed ball I did not catch, but rather WON, at a Twins game. I did not give it to a kid. Also, I am wearing a Cubs jacket in this picture, but this is acceptable because (A) I'm from Chicago, (B) No one in Minnesota hates the Cubs, and (C) it was so cold, plus (D) I'm wearing a Twins shirt underneath. So this picture doesn't illustrate this point, but I wanted to brag about the ball.

Don't pressure the lucky bloke who actually caught a home run ball into throwing it back. I know it's tradition, but too bad. It's a special moment. So I guess my peeve isn't really with those who throw it back so much as it is with those who pressure others into throwing it back. I think this is mainly a Wrigley thing, but I've seen it elsewhere.

And .... probably the one I hate almost as much as the wave...

10. People Who Boo Their Own Team and Players

What is WRONG with you? Chicago fans are the WORST about this (although Boston is probably actually worse).

My favorite example of this is none other than Sparkles himself, Kris Bryant. Sit back and enjoy a good story.

Everyone wanted him up from day one, but he started in AAA, so Cubs fans became defiant and called for his call-up and made signs and swore at Theo Epstein. Then Mike Olt got injured and they needed a 3rd baseman, and he was called up. I was there for his debut with the Fitzys and we were pumped!

 So then he gets up to bat and everyone is so psyched. Here he is in his MLB debut:

Everyone stood up and cheered. You can see that everyone took a picture. They wanted a home run, because that's what the promise of Kris Bryant was. Home runs galore!

Except, he didn't hit a home run. He struck out. And then he came up to bat again. Less cheers this time, but everyone still seemed pretty excited.

And he struck out again. Then he came up again with men on base. So much adrenaline must have been pumping through him. Everyone was cheering. He could be a hero!

But that didn't happen.

His fourth at-bat that day, the fans booed him. Just brutally screamed "YOU SUCK" and "GO BACK TO THE MINORS" and all kinds of worse things I won't write here. Needless to say, he ended the day hitless. I can't remember the last at bat--I want to say he hit a long fly and when it was caught the crowd booed him.

The next day was more of the same. Booing him every at bat. But then he got his first hit

 and now he's everyone's hero and people would kill their mother to get his autograph.

I say all this and posted all of those basically identical pictures to say this: You are such a terrible person if you are spreading your hate with boos. You might as well just do The Wave, for crying out loud. The rude, hateful tweets are also garbage.

What if someone came to your job with a bunch of their friends and watched you work, and when they saw you make a mistake, they just started booing you? I feel like I would feel like a loser and perform even worse. I know athletes have thick skin, but seriously, you are just a total jerkface if you boo your own guys when they are down.

Here's the thing. I can talk about my mom being a turd to my family, but if one of my friends ever said something about my mom, I'd punch him in the throat. I don't post how much I hate my mom on twitter, or that I think she should be fired from being my mom. I just kind of wait it out, or maybe I won't spend as much time with her when she's unpleasant. Well, that's how you should be about your team. Gripe about the Cubs to your other Cubs fan friends, but if you see a picture of one of them taking a selfie with a fan, don't reply with "Stop taking selfies and start getting hits," as if you need to stop doing one to get the other. This actually happened when the Sox posted a picture of my friend Polly getting a picture with Jose Abreu.

I called him out, and we conversed for a bit, but he insisted on being a jerkface.

It's okay to say you're not going to games until they start winning, but don't pretend that you were with me in a 3-hour rain delay at Wrigley in September of 2012 that ended with the Cubs losing by, like, 35 runs.

Okay, the actual score was Pirates winning 3-0, but look at the time. That is dedication and love.

Which brings me to the saddest pet peeve:

11. Fair-Weather Fans

Much like Blackhawks fans.... Don't pretend that you've stuck by the Cubs through thick and thin because most of you didn't. Most of you don't remember Lendy Castillo or Justin Germano or Joe Mather but I do, because I loved them even when they lost 101 games.

Here's Angela and me with Michael Bowden's (do you even know who Michael IS?) shoelaces at the last game of the 2012 season. We went to about 60 Cubs games that year. They were 61-101 that year, a .377 winning percentage. But we cheered on every single player.

I have sat in the front row at Wrigley because it is so empty. I have paid 10 dollars to do so. They were so bad. In fact, I blogged about that entire losing season. I never booed Carlos Marmol when he blew saves, even though my heart burst every time he went on the mound. I didn't boo anyone that whole season. And they still had moments to cheer about, especially that last game, which you can read about at this place.

My favorite moment in the season, other than all the hob-nobbing with the players, was Bryan LaHair himself, who we called LaHomer. He was super boss most of the first half, and I am going to quote myself for what happened in the bottom of the 9th that last game of 2012:

"Bryan LaHair came up to bat. LaHair, who had such a great start to the season but had been largely forgotten when Rizzo was called up to take his place at first. LaHair, who couldn't seem to hit lefties. LaHair, selected to the All-Star team by the players but who let another player use his glove at first. I am not a baseball mind, but I didn't understand why he sat the bench so much and didn't even get a chance. I was pretty sure he wouldn't be on the Cubs next year--they could trade him and get a lot for him. And I really wanted this for him.

And he singled.

As the run scored, the Cubs ran on the field and mobbed him."

The Cubs will win the World Series this year, and I will be so happy, but I don't know if I will be as happy as I was that night for Bryan LaHair, who, as I predicted, did NOT return to the Cubs, or even MLB, and is right now playing for the Somerset Patriots, an independent baseball team. I don't know if I will ever be as happy for anyone as I was in that moment.

That is why being a fair-weather fan cheats YOU. You missed some of the history and some of the lore, even though you did get all the good stuff. You're like the dad who never changes diapers or gets up in the night with the crying baby, but holds up the kid when he's all dressed up and, as the mom is withering in the corner on 2 hours of sleep, talk about how much you love that kid. I wonder how much you love the kid you didn't love enough to get up with in the night, and I wonder how much you loved the team that you never really knew back when you thought they were unlovable.

It's not as fun to go to Wrigley now, because I spend my time bitterly judging the lunatics around me who jumped on the Cubs bandwagon. But then I remember that their loss was my gain, because before Jake threw no-hitters, he hung out with me in a hotel lobby and woke up my friend, as you can see here. Anthony Rizzo knows who I am and remembers that I was there in the bad times. I got to know awesome guys like Steve Clevenger and Blake Parker and Josh Vitters and Joe Mather and Jeff Beliveau. I can tell you stories about every guy on that team, good stories. And I can know that every win is kind of a thank you from the Cubs (whether they know it or not) for sticking by them.

So what started as annoyance and ended in bitterness/nostalgia is really just me telling you I love the game, and asking you to please not ruin it for me.

Brandon Kintzler and the Never Giving Up

I love the Brewers (they're my 4th favorite team, which is pretty impressive). They're the favorite team that I see least, so I don't get as personally attached to those guys, with a few exceptions, most notably my ardent and misplaced defense of Ryan Braun a couple years back (but he is totally forgiven by me.) 

But, not surprisingly, the Brewer I was most attached to was one of my bullpen boys. Brandon Kintzler was a middle reliever for the Brewers the past few years, and had a turbulent career. I honestly don't know how our friendship began (and we are not actual friends, but baseball player friends), but we always had great talks when he came to Chicago or I came to Milwaukee. We also swapped stuff--I gave him a bobblehead. He gave me his game used cleats. He greeted me with hugs and a huge smile. He was very funny, with a deadpan sense of humor:

Me: "What was draft day like for you, Brandon?"

BK: "Well, I was drafted in the 40th round, so pretty much a Tuesday."

so much sarcasm:

BK: "Seriously, why do you need more of my stuff? Are you sniffing my shoes at home? Tell me the truth and I won't call the cops."

 ---I hope he was being sarcastic...

and then hit-you-in-the-gut seriousness:

Me: "Ugh. How can you do this all the time? You get to make zero choices about your life. You can get released any minute. You can get thrown in the game any minute. I would have 20 heart attacks."

 

BK: "Yeah, it's terrible. I haven't seen my dogs since spring training. I just wait to see if I still have a job every day."

 

He helped me see the very unglamorous side of baseball. He was just a regular guy who just does this one thing that hardly anyone can do. I think that's what I love about Steve Clevenger and Blake Parker and Kyle Hendricks and Andre Rienzo. They're the same way. Just people. Not sure what the future holds but working hard to get to where they want to be.

Anyway, back to the turbulent career. Initially, he was drafted by the Padres in 2004 and played a couple years but never made it past A League. Then he sat out a season. Then he played a couple years of independent ball.  

 

Then the Brewers signed him to a minor league deal in 2009, and he played some AA ball. The next year he played AAA ball and eventually made his MLB debut. Then in 2011 got hurt. DFA'd in 2012. Suddenly remarkable as the set-up man in 2013 and very successful. Messed up his shoulder in 2014 and saw limited time. Messed up his leg in 2015 and barely played. (I hadn't seen him at all in 2015 except for yelling to him on the field from the Miller Park TGIF the day he came off the DL the first time last season. We actually had a long and loud conversation, where I found out his wife was pregnant). Released by the Brewers in the offseason.

 

I wanted to jump off a bridge and assumed I'd never see him again. How many of my favored baseball players had I lost over the past few years? Where the heck is Brooks Raley (playing in Japan or Korea or something, last I heard)? Where is Adrian Cardenas (at NYU becoming a writer or something)? What about sweet Cole DeVries (I'm pretty sure he is in real estate in Minnesota)? Scott Maine (who never thought I was funny or fun or clever, so I completely obsessed about winning him over and eventually succeeded, with the help of Blake and Steve)? Brian LaHair? Cole Gilaspie? Jeff Bellevue? I could list a hundred guys that I became attached to and developed a baseball friendship with (maybe I should just be honest and call it 'rapport," but I refuse) that I will never ever hear of again.

 

This is baseball life. It's a great accomplishment to have a couple good years in the bigs, and even an inning or two can lead to a great story, but it does not end well for a girl like me, a fan of epic proportions who often roots for the individuals long after they have left my favored teams.

I know that baseball doesn't work for everyone, and if it doesn't, or they get sick of it or whatever, that means I never ever get to see them again. It's a big deal. Because of my stupid attachment issues.

Anyway, back to the turbulent career: To my complete surprise and delight, signed this past offseason by the Twins to a MiLB deal (he did not make the 40-man roster). I made plans for a road trip to see the AAA Rochester Red Wings play....

AND THEN......

The Twins bullpen was abysmal as usual. Shakeups and rumors. Nothing confirmed. Brandon's name coming up a lot but I didn't believe it. Thinking maybe he would be brought up Sunday, and maybe I would see him while the Twins were in Chicago.

Then out of nowhere, seeing him in the uniform of my Twins, a day earlier than I dared believe, while the Twins were still in MY city, made me so happy. For me to be able to be there for his Twins debut--well, I can't even describe the pride and happiness. Of course it is only fair. I am surely his biggest fan who is not related to him. He looked terrified on his run in from the pen, but he probably wasn't. Aren't baseball players impervious to fear?

He was thrown into a ridiculous situation, either men on the corners or bases loaded (I can't remember because I was still in shock), only one out, and facing two of the toughest hitters on the first -place White Sox. But he was great, pitching 1 2/3 scoreless innings. Striking out Jose Abreu, then forcing Todd Frazier to hit into a groundout. He pitched the next inning and only allowed one base-runner, a base hit to Melky Cabrera. Not bad for a first time out, for a guy who SHOULD NEVER GIVE UP but I would have a long time ago because I am a weak person.

I didn't get to talk to him yesterday, but today I did, and the first thing I said was, "I thought I'd never see you again!"

He looked at me wryly. "I see how much confidence you have in my abilities."

Of course I didn't mean that, but he doesn't know how many people I have said goodbye to. Actually, who I never got to say goodbye to.

I asked him who he was friends with on the team.

"No one yet," then adding, "I don't really make friends on the team. I don't see a point."

This is that real-life, punch-me-in-the-gut truth-telling that is difficult for me to hear.

He ran some sprints. I took some pictures, still reveling in my luck. I presented him with the picture below of his strikeout of Abreu, his Twins debut, an omen of all the good he deserves to come his way.

Brandon is special to me, the same way Blake and Steve are. But I can talk to those boys on facebook and twitter. I'm friends with their ladies and they show me great photos and give me updates when the boys are too busy to talk to me. I worry about them, too, but the thing is, if things don't work out. I'll still know them. I'll get to follow their lives in photograph and facebook statuses and I'll know they are happy and healthy.

All I have with Brandon is the thin wisp of a baseball career. And that is not my lack of confidence in Brandon. I think he will shine in Minnesota. I think he will have a home there for a while. But all baseball careers are shorter and less durable than the length of my affection.

Anyway, I'll enjoy this while it lasts, and my enthusiasm will follow him to whatever team he plays for (if I'm wrong about Minnesota). I just hope he keeps playing, because as long as he does, I can still hold on to that wisp.

(P.S. All of the following pictures are out of order. Just like my life.)

 

 



BK striking out Jose Abreu in his first appearance as a Twin.





Kurt Suzuki congratulating Brandon after his 2/3 scoreless inning pitched.

Finally reunited.

 

 

I love that the infield boys just stood and watched, like they were thinking, I wonder what stuff this kid has,

 

 

Brandon fearlessly holding Melky to a short lead-off at first. A lot of seasoned pitchers are terrified of using the pick-off throw.

 

I think this was after Melky's hit.

 

Watching Brandon warm up

 

Warming up in the pen last night

 

Throwing long toss like a boss

 

This is his after-strikeout excitement.

 

Warming up before his Twins debut

 

Kurt Suzuki pumping up the kid.

 

The run in from the bullpen

Now walking in, because it's a long run.

 

 

Frazier crying because Brandon made him ground out.

 

Brandon after his outing.

 

Pre-pitch whatever he does. Praying? Thinking? Magic?

 

I've missed that windup.

 

After sprints