My adventures in bandwagondom
I’ve never been a baseball fan. Some people would even say that I hate baseball. Those people are correct. But my hatred of baseball has nothing to do with the actual game itself. It’s not a bad game to watch. The problem is that there are 30 teams in the major leagues. Those 30 teams each play a total of 162 games each season, and when you include Spring Training and the playoffs, the season stretches from March to the end of October. If my math serves me correctly, that means a total of 97582150924307 total games are played each season. I’m generally not here for that.
But something happened this year. In the nearly eight years that I’ve lived in Kansas City, the Royals have been terrible. Like the kinda terrible where it was easy, on a yearly basis, to score some free tickets to see the Royals get blow’d out by *insert any team name here*. This year, though, they made it to the playoffs for the first time in almost 30 years. Not only did they make the playoffs, but they rattled off eight straight wins, and made it to the World Series. I found myself turning into a die-hard fan.
Yep. Die hard. But let’s be real. Am I going to still be cheering for these dudes if they return to the basement next season? Am I about to go buy a bunch of Royals attire? Will I even care about this team next week? The answer to all of these questions is a resounding no.
But for now, I’m firmly seated on the bandwagon. If game tickets weren’t some price that’s between a car note and a mortgage payment, I would even consider going to one of the World Series games. As long as my bill collectors keep requiring that I pay them and my body continues its insatiable desire for food every day, that’s not really an option.
For now, it’s been really fun cheering for the success of the team of my adopted home town. I’m here now. I’m a fan. And I’m gonna ride this thing until the wheels fall off… or the World Series ends, or whatever.