SB Nation User Blog: Silverblood

The Psychology of Sports Fans, Vol. I

Silverblood — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 02:47:16 -0000

(This is something I've been mulling on for a while, and I was curious to hear what MHR has to say).

I, like everyone here, count myself under the "rabid, tending to dysfunctional due to extreme emotional attachment' brand of sports fans. I watch spring training and preseason games, whether on TV or on Gamecast. (My plans for Saturday night tomorrow consist of: Get pizza. Watch Broncos game. Heckle the Cowboys even though they can't hear me through the TV screen. Make unimaginative cracks about Jessica Simpson. Yell at Jay to throw the ball to the open guy in blue (or orange, as the case may be). You get the idea). I read every stats sheet in existence. I check an average of five or six different sites a day, five or six times, for news on my teams. My evening is planned around how I can check on the games in progress -- or avoid them, if they are currently too painful to be endured. (This April, I went to a big dance party at college. During breaks on the sidelines, I was constantly texting MLBscores to keep updated on the progress of the Rockies game). I am happy if the team wins, and feel as if life is all a sham and should be disallowed in the (sadly all too common) event that my teams get their behind handed to them on a platter. This is a routine that likely sounds very familiar to all of you, since I'm sure all of us have similarly proudly displayed our lack of social skills and bizarre emotional swings all having to do with a bunch of guys in matching colors.

This can make you do strange things. As an example, I work at Starbucks, and today a guy came in wearing a raiders hat. My first impulse was to ignore him, or pretend to throw holy water on him, or make more cracks about Al Davis. (Earlier this year, I recounted my triumphant encounter with a raiders fan while leaving the Rockies game, in which wit wasn't even needed to outmaneuver the poltroon -- just a simple stating of his team's crappy record). Of course, it is my job to be nice to the guy, so I just took my sweet time finishing the drink I was working on and eventually got around to him, where I was very nice indeed. So nice he might have suspected something was up. So nice that I certainly didn't spit in his drink or anything... (As a matter of fact, to be perfectly honest, I didn't. Mainly because he didn't GET one. Nope, he just stood there with a bagel, one bagel, for me to ring up. And couldn't have gone somewhere else. Nope, needed the bagel. One bagel. Right then, raiders fan). And the guy wasn't even wearing a chargers hat. I wonder what I might have done if that was the case. (Although a kid did come in wearing a chargers shirt a while ago. I decided not to tell him that his choice of football allegiance sucked harder than Phyllis on dollar drinks night. Being as poor as I am, I can take no chances with losing my job).

I'm a psychology student and a chronic overthinker in addition to a sports fan, which of course got me wondering. I had never met this guy in my life. I am sure he was a perfectly ordinary fellow, but the colors which he had chosen to brand himself immediately sparked a "that guy has gotta be a dipshit, oh god" reaction in me. We have the choice of following, or not following, a team that wears some assortment of colors and throws some shape of ball around. We don't play the games, we don't manage the team (at least in reality, as we do our best armchair-jockeying). We don't pay the salaries (although we grumble at how much money we blow on them with so little results). We don't even write the newspaper coverage of them. (Although we should, since I swear to God your average fan at MHR could do a better job than some of the hacks in the press boxes. But that is another diary which has already been written and not by me...) Is it a primal emotional thing, to glorify in Us stomping on their heads? Do we identify ourselves with the players or as their followers? And for heaven's sake, why does it absolutely ruin an otherwise perfectly acceptable evening when we don't cross home plate more times/make more three-pointers/shoot the puck in the net more times/throw the ovoid to the guy in the end zone more times? There is enough insanity going on in the world, so is that the precise reason sports evoke such a response in us -- we know it's not Darfur or Russia/Georgia, but dammit, it DOES matter that the guy didn't aim right in getting the ball through the yellow uprights. People make a lot of money on this crap. Or lose a lot of emotional stability, as the case may be.

I get philosophical about sports, especially when my teams lose. (Since I am a diehard Rockies fan, I have this experience frequently). The more I think about it, it just doesn't entirely make sense. And then I go to the stadium on a summer night, have a dog and a drink, settle down, watch the opening video montage, and feel like, "Hell yeah! These are my guys! We're awesome! We rule! We kick butt! Hell yeah!" (And then this does not usually happen). Not your deepest emotional reaction, but no one would deny that it is deep. It does matter. Good luck explaining to your non-sports-crazy significant other that yes, the reason you want to put a paper bag on your head and die is because the one guy hit the ball three inches too far to the right for the game-ending double play instead of the game-winning single. Yes. That is the reason. And yes, you are an infidel because you don't get it. Wait, you have a life? Well, screw you.

(Interlude while I watch Michael Phelps win his record-tying seventh gold medal in his most exciting race since the 4x100 freestyle relay. Same thing goes here. Aside from the fact that Phelps is probably from another planet, he is from the USA, so I root for him. My sister and I leapt off the couch and roared when he somehow got in first. This at least has somewhat more sense in the fact that that's where I'm from, so national solidarity.... so.... state solidarity? Is it that we decide this particular group represents us, so we come together in a unity show? Is it the old pack mentality? Since we are from one place, we are better than you from another place?)

If I can get away with it during the course of my cognitive psychology Ph.D (still a few years off) I would like to be able to trick the department into letting me study if being a sports fan appeals to something in primal human nature. We all jump off the couch, pound our chests, and shout like cavemen when Jay threads the needle with a pass to a double-teamed Marshall in the endzone who somehow pulls it down... we don't waste time on analyzing why we are doing what we are doing, we just know that it feels good and HAHAHAHA EAT IT CHARGERS EAT IT HAHAHAHA. This is not particularly intellectual stuff. No one thinks that being a sports fan will save the world, but sometimes it does. Or at least our world. Maybe the whole rest of the day sucked, but at least the boys won, so we can deal with it. Or maybe you read a feel-good story about a dying kid getting to meet their favorite athlete. Or you have a get-together with your friends and talk about sports, it's something you can connect with. (MHR fulfills this role).

So, my question to you all is this. What makes us sports fans, and what keeps us there through the bad parts? I don't think that any of us would doubt that what we feel for these guys, these moments, these teams -- none of whom we've ever met unless we're stupidly lucky, none of whom we know aside from soundbites provided to the paper, yet who we watch devotedly every day or every Sunday -- is real love. And yet we put up with so much crap from them, like boneheaded passes into double coverage in the endzone that Marshall doesn't catch, but which instead get picked and run back for a touchdown. They break our hearts. They do stupid things like signing Kip Wells and failing to have a run defense capable of stopping a paper bag blowing in the wind. But we stick. They become a part of us.

And why, in chicken-pickin' hell, is this the case? Would we all be happier if we had the answer? Or would it really not matter? A lot of us start watching teams because we live in a certain geographic location, or because our parents did, or because of total accidents. And then we start obsessing. And then it generally goes badly. But hey, there we are, sitting with teeth clenched through one more five-run inning or three-and-out drive. And if we're bona fides we come back for more pain. And curse existence. And do it again, so we really have no excuses.

Amateur MHR psychologists one and all, give it your best shot. Best entry gets each of Doom's sacks of Phyllis named after them.

Overflow: We Do It Again Vs. Dodgers

Silverblood — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 06:59:08 -0000

So, Russ asked me/someone to open a FanPost for the extra once the main thread hit 400, and since we're at 440, it's time to move over. Hopefully that will give us some new mojo, as we are clearly showing every sign of being in for it again. Russ has to get up in 2 hours, and since I am exhausted but don't know what's best for me, here I am doing it again. Bring your charming personages to these new premises.

Overflow: 04/?? Vs. Padres

Silverblood — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 06:46:03 -0000

Since I don't even know what day it is, and Russ went to bed... and we've gotten close to 1,000 comments in the existing thread, I figured I should do this instead. And since it needs to be 75 words long, I'll babble so we can move here, since breaking SB Nation would not be preferable. I expect that we'd get peeved about that, since we would then have nowhere to do said babbling.

Post here, all.

The Ultimate Rockies Playlist

Silverblood — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 20:44:35 -0000

Sitting here in my NL champs T-shirt, watching the Rox take on the White Sox, a week or so before the regular season starts, slavering for baseball. This is my first diary -- er, excuse me, FanPost -- on the new Purple Row, so hopefully I have everything figured out. I was looking at my recently enhanced iTunes Rockies playlist, and decided I could both share my favorite songs as pertaining to the purple and ask about yours. So, what songs give you the best memories of our boys? Here's mine.

1. Call to Arms, Angels and Airwaves. (This is a good all-purpose opening song, getting the troops to rally for battle. Our purple boys will rise up and ambush the rest of the NL).

2. Welcome to the Black Parade, My Chemical Romance (This was played at Opening Day at Coors last year, and is generally good for the Rockies anyway. They ARE the Black Parade).

3. This Ain't a Scene, It's An Arms Race, Fall Out Boy (They played this song at Coors before the start of every game, or at least the ones I went to. Happy memories here).

4. The Sweet Escape, Gwen Stefani (Everybody knows that our darling Spilly has, um, an odd sense of humor, and anybody who's been to a game recently knows the whole stadium sings the "Wee-oo!" part at least one time after it's over).

5. Rock Star, Nickelback (This was Brad's walk-up song last year, which seems particularly unsuited to our sweet little Brandon. Still, it's amusing).

6. What a Wonderful World, Louis Armstrong (They played this song while Squeaky and I were lying on the Coors Field outfield barefoot on July 4th, watching fireworks after the Rockies had just absolutely schooled the Mets 17-7. This brings back memories of one of the happiest nights of my life).

8. Crank That (Rockies Remix), Tyler Ward. (This is a remix of the Crank That Soulja Boy song, but it's done quite well and makes me grin whenever I hear it. Weirdly catchy).

9. Perfect Situation, Weezer ("There's the pitch... Slow and straight... All I have to do is swing and I'm a hero..." Seems to me to be the story of a baseball player's life).

10. Rockies Are A Girl's Best Friend, The Garlands (This is the most awesome cover of "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" you will ever hear. "Matt Holliday is glad to die for runs... against the Padres in a duel..." It gets better from there).

11. Count Your Last Blessings, Sum 41(Squeaky and I listened to this song all the time coming up from games. Great rocker. The Dodgers feel this way whenever they see the Rockies).

12. Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen (They played this song on July 7th, Rockies vs. Phillies, while Squeaky and I patiently sat through a 1 hour+ rain delay. There is nothing quite like singing "Galileo, Galileo, Galileo figaro!" at the top of your lungs, in the third deck. In the rain. Waiting for the actual game. Which the Rockies won).

13. Holiday, Green Day (For our beloved Man-beast Mattie).

14. Load Up The Bases (The Baseball Song), Whiskey Falls. (They play this song at the end of 21 Days, which it itself makes me like it. Make sure you get the Rockies version from iTunes, not the evil Red Sox version).

15. For You, Staind (This is Fuentes's song. It is awesome. He should try to be as awesome as his song).

16. I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears But None In My Fingers, Fall Out Boy (This song has the most insanely catchy opener ever. Yet again, a favorite of Squeaky and I. We'd come out of Coors after another Rockies win and blast this one on the way home).

17. We Love The Rockies, Alice 105.9 (From the guys at Alice, set to the tune of "We Will Rock You" by Queen, starts with the call from Jamey Carroll's AB in the tiebreaker and Matt's legendary slide).

18. Rocktober, Thomas Tha Franchise (My favorite rap song ever. It's great. Tells the story of Rocktober in rhyme, and is also incredibly catchy).

So, what about you? What songs remind you of our boys? What are your favorites? Any more suggestions?

The Trash Talk Manifesto

Silverblood — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 22:30:29 -0000

Coming to you in the dead of winter between the end of hot stove season and the start of spring training (although I suppose the Santana trade qualifies as a story...?) To you, my Pitter pals, I present...

THE TRASH TALK MANIFESTO!

(and I remember that since we ill-advisedly bet Rodrigo "I Broke" Lopez to be more VORPY than Livan "Keepin' Krispy Kremes in Business" Hernandez, you are more than welcome to reciprocate).

So, word has reached my Internet ivory tower that ye olde fools think that the Dodgers are a bigger threat to your NL-West-winning ways than are we Rockies, zero to hero who ~~lost~~ won the ~~World Series~~ war (but we don't talk about that). Seriously, the Dodgers? Andruw Jones is made of FAIL, Andre Ethier is busy sleeping with ~~all women of the known world~~ a bevy of those L.A. beauties, Joe Torre's so happy to just get out of New York that he's snoozing on the beach, and Jeff Kent is shouting each time that Russell Martin stands up, sits down, goes forwards, goes backwards, goes left, goes right, opens the fridge, outplays him, or gets a call from Alyssa Milano. (Jeff's just jealous that Alyssa put him 442nd on her list, meaning that he won't have a crack at her until Bartolo Colon and Jay Gibbons have already got theirs. Schnikey). You have nothing to fear from the silicon-farting patsies in blue. Fear the purple rage against the machine? That's more like it. 39% to 22%? Something is gravely wrong in the state of ~~Denmark~~ Arizona.

But very well, you don't fear us, so we will sneak up and get you when you are sleeping. How can we fail? We have a heavenly mandate! We worship JEEBUS! We're America's team!

Regard:

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

Hmm, no mention of red snakes, I wonder why. What are snakes good for? For being run over on roads by dude ranchers in Hummers, that's right. We are not dude ranchers in Hummers, nor will we ever be, but this only proves that we are not the only people who like to run you over. Fortunately, some people show pity. (Difference between a dead snake in the road and a dead lawyer in the road? Skid marks in front of the snake). Do not expect any such from us. You will be assimilated.

Also, this song was inspired by the view from the top of Pikes Peak. Where is Pikes Peak? That's right, Colorado. I've never heard of anyone writing about the view from the top of a cactus. And the Grand Canyon doesn't count, it goes down.

Brandon Webb and Dan Haren? Eh, they're just Thing 1 and Thing 2, complete with dodgy hair and red uniforms, and therefore accordingly will run into boxes (or is it out of boxes? Been a long freaking time since I read Dr. Seuss). Anyway, there will be no running-out-of-boxing by Webb, Haren, and the Cat in the Hat (Byrnes) but there will be a lot of running-into-boxing, boxes labeled Coors Field. Whereupon they will meet purple-clad Who death squads, who, wielding advanced technology known as bats, will deliver mortal blows. We will pwn, and then we will have a victory cigar. We keep them in the humidor.

Not convinced? Take a look at my trusty diagrams. There is clearly no way we can fail.

SP Brandon Webb: Won a Cy Young.
SP Jeff Francis: Canadian.
Advantage: Rockies.

SP Dan Haren: Sidelined for the Thankfully Deceased, had a near-death experience and a Ben n' Jerry's ice cream flavor named after him. Also, smoked a lotta weed.
SP Aaron Cook: Actually did almost die.
Advantage: Rockies.

SP Doug Davis: Slow.
SP Ubaldo Jimenez: Fast.
Advantage: Rockies.

SP Micah Owings: Pitches, hits, cleans, cooks, dances, dusts, dices, flies, spies, shoots, sings, and does the New York Times crossword blindfolded. Also makes a mean creme brulee.
SP Jason Hirsh: Tall.
Advantage: Rockies.

SP Randy Johnson: Looks like bad acid trip.
SP Kip Wells/Mark Redman: Pitches like one.
Advantage: Rockies.

CL Tony Pena: Last name has earned him nickname of "Pestilence," suggesting mildly irritating annoyance best served with flyswatter.
CL Manny Corpas: Last name sounds like Death, which is what he is.
Advantage: Rockies.

Setup: Brandon Lyon: Needs a few Tigers and Bears to keep him company. Say hello to your new mopup men, Gary Sheffield and Rex Grossman.
Setup: Brian Fuentes: Sucked hard enough at one point to cause gravity shear.
Advantage: Rockies.

1B Conor Jackson: Failed charm school.
1B Todd Helton: Failed to win Gold Glove.
Advantage: Rockies.

2B: Orlando Hudson: Cannot be in two places at once.
2B Jayson Nix/Ian Stewart/Jeff Baker/Marcus Giles/Omar Quintanilla/The Thing That Was Clint Barmes: Can use Barmes for bait while the other five get Hudson from behind.
Advantage: Rockies.

SS Stephen Drew: Eli Manning, except older brother is not good.
SS Troy Tulowitzki: Baby Zeus.
Advantage: Rockies.

3B Mark Reynolds: Impeccable usage of hair-care products.
3B Garrett Atkins: Hat head.
Advantage: Rockies.

LF Eric Byrnes: Runs into walls.
LF Matt Holliday: Runs into national spotlight.
Advantage: Rockies.

CF Chris Young: Once struck out 11.217 times in game, creating small black hole of fail.
CF Willy Taveras: Is fast, so can run away.
Advantage: Rockies.

RF Justin Upton: "Jupton" sounds like historic Civil War general.
RF Brad Hawpe: "Bhawpe" sounds like running into wall.
Advantage: Rockies.

C Chris Snyder: Can hit.
C Yorvit Torrealba: Cannot.
Advantage: Rockies.

Mascot: Baxter.
Mascot: Barney.
Advantage: Diamondbacks.

Manager: Of the Year.
Manager: Amiable but often incompetent.
Advantage: Rockies.

Colors: Warlike red and soulless black.
Colors: Royal purple and black "is the new NL champion."
Advantage: Rockies.

Team: Arizona Diamondbacks
Team: Colorado Rockies
Advantage: Wait and see in 2008!

Man, I wish baseball was back.

A Purple Pilgrim's Journey

Silverblood — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 22:17:16 -0000

(I was debating whether or not to post this today, out of respect for the news of Joe Kennedy's passing. I was only aware of him peripherally, but it's always a terrible thing when baseball loses one of its own, and it seems as if there have been just too many recently... Darryl Kile, Cory Lidle, and Josh Hancock, and now Joe Kennedy... rest in peace, Joe).

A lot has happened since I've been gone. The Rockies completed the process of losing the World Series, those blasted Beantowners took the crown instead, the Gold Gloves were a joke, Holliday and Tulowitzki got robbed, etc... it's been an eventful month or so. I've been reading occasionally, but haven't posted and have in general been trying to spend more time elsewhere - unfortunately, I still have a terrible Internet addiction. But that's due to a number of factors, and I'm hoping that I've recovered enough to get somewhere near back to normal.

I've been struggling with depression this year, for really the first time in my life, and naturally it's been hard to adjust to. It first hit me in summer, as the last weeks of July and the first few weeks of August saw me sliding, really upset and down, for a variety of reasons which aren't worth dredging up again. I just wasn't happy and I wasn't myself, I'd lost my ability to write, and I wasn't feeling very ambitious; I was tired, very lonely, and having a combination self-esteem/identity crisis. I went to work and did whatever I had to. Nothing fun, just duty.

But at least I had the Rockies. I have a certain habit of clinging onto the good things instead of really trying to face and work through the bad things, and the Rockies were always a bright spot for me - I could pay attention to the games, post on the Row, and pretend that things were normal instead of really getting to the bottom of my problems. I recently estimated that I think about the game, the team, or the guys in some shape or form for a great majority of each day, and whether that's symbolic of a loving addiction or an unhealthy obsession (perhaps both) you can decide. So, during the first bout of depression, I at least could hold onto the team.

I went back to school in early September and was initially happy to be back and resume my studies. I'm quite happy at my college and I like what I'm doing there, so it was all right for a month or two. I had the Rockies to follow from afar (I didn't miss a game, even if they were all on Gameday, I was there, watching, giving up any activity that might conflict). I was madly jealous of my sister, who attended both the tiebreaker and the NLDS clincher. I had the amazing win streaks to cheer on and during NLDS Game 3 and NLCS Game 4, when Manny was on the mound to shut down the Phillies and D-backs respectively, I was too nervous to stay in my room and instead began rambling around campus maniacally at midnight, returning to peer through my fingers and see the good times. That still may be the best I've ever felt.

Nonetheless, I was starting to slide again - this time, the Rockies, as wonderful as they were, weren't enough to pull me back. I was just really tired all the time and feeling overwhelmed - sophomore slump, I suppose. On the days that I had no class, I had a hard time dragging myself out of bed before three o'clock in the afternoon. I didn't want to see anybody and yet my loneliness was driving me crazy. I really just wanted to go home for a while and go to a game, or go down to LoDo and enjoy the purple ambiance; I wanted the Rockies just as much or more than I wanted anything else and it was killing me to be 1600 miles away from them when they were embroiled in the thick of their magical run. I tried to comfort myself with my baseball cards, YouTube videos of the chaos in the stands, the MVP chants, everything that I was missing - and I still haven't entirely forgiven myself for not being there.

By this time, I was already struggling, but looking forward to the World Series since I thought it would help me surface... and, as we know, bad idea. That became a total shatterpoint for me. It's not that I can't handle heckling - I have survived not one, but two full games in the Yankee Stadium bleachers with a friend in enemy colors, and laughed at the saltier denizens of Shea who gave me the business when I went, in full Rockies regalia, to two Mets/Rox games in April - but my emotional energy was at an all-time low ebb. I was an exposed nerve and the games didn't exactly help with that. I was already so bitterly upset from the disappointing results and the few boorish Red Sox fans who came here to boast (and who we couldn't even get to shut up later because they were right, dammit) that the Rockies were making me feel completely terrible. I'd lost my last lifeline where things were still all right, and I was just drowning instead. That's why I left.

The few days after the Series ended were probably the worst I've ever felt in my life. I spent so much time trying to make it all right in my head, to force the Rockies to be a place where I could feel safe, but it just wasn't working; it was hurting me too badly along with everything else. So I tried to escape. I didn't get out of bed unless I had class, and class itself wasn't fun. I sat there and took notes and didn't really say anything. I went alone to meals and then back to my room and rambled over the Internet and did nothing really productive. This kind of depression just isn't fun. It makes you feel hollow and sore and silent. I don't recommend it.

I talked to some friends, I talked to my parents, and eventually they decided that since I was so upset and down, they'd find a way to bring me home for Thanksgiving. This at least was something I could look forward to, and I had some good news in my writing class to tide me over (my professor quite liked my baseball - what else - novel, and we're working on finding me a literary agent). I also met a truly wonderful guy named Matt, who with coffee dates, shared writing, hugs, and talks, helped lift my spirits and make me see the light again. But there was one thing I still needed to rebuild my happy place, and that was my Rockies.

I wanted to go home so badly it was crazy; for several weeks before I actually left, I tracked the flight I'd be taking from New York. Finally, this past Monday, I had a frantically busy day turning in midterms and registering for new classes, dealt with the usual heinous holiday delays out of LaGuardia, and after a four-hour flight, landed in Denver at 1:45 AM. I was so happy to be there, to be home, it was crazy. As my sister was driving us up I-70 in the dead of night, I was waving at a Coors I couldn't even see, but I knew it was there. When we saw a sign for "Coors Field," I declared myself the happiest I'd been all night. I hadn't slept in 24 hours, cut me some slack.

I intensely enjoyed being in the familiar warm glowing clutter of home, sleeping in my own bed, family time, a little sun and a little snow. I like New York, but Colorado is so very much home in more ways than one, and on Friday, my sister and I decided that we were going down to LoDo to enjoy the holiday decorations and more importantly, let me pay homage to the field. Henceforth my purple pilgrimage. It was something I needed to do; I hadn't been there since my birthday, August 24, and the amazing 6-5 comeback against the Nats.

It was a freezing day; the sky was gunmetal gray and the wind was sharp, snow drifting in the wind. Not exactly summer, or autumn; baseball season is gone now, held in stasis, even though I've been watching a lot of football in an attempt to make the offseason pass faster. I didn't care, though. We didn't mind the cold, and I was wearing my NL Champions shirt and had tucked a Rockies rally towel inside my jacket. Just for luck, even though I wasn't likely to need it.

We walked about six blocks from 14th and Curtis to 20th and Blake. I looked up at the light racks rising through the cold and fog and felt... well, it's hard to describe. Happy will have to do. The lettering "Coors Field," the purple mountain façade, the green gates, the whole place. I've said before that Coors is my happy place, and it is - no matter whatever else may be going on in my life, I come there and it doesn't matter. Summers spent there are my life, and in fact, I could quite happily live there. (Somehow, I don't think this would go down well with security).

My sister and I stopped in the empty brick plaza by the Player statue. I went to the closed gates and peered through at the bare concrete concourses, the just-visible green walls - I'd come after the last game of 2007, missed all the excitement, ecstasy, drama, and heartbreak at least in person, but had to get it from MLB.com on the other side of the country. I threaded my fingers through the green bars and just took a breath or two. Then we went onwards.

We headed into the Dugout store, and for a second, I really was in baseball heaven. It was so good to be back. I wandered around, bemoaned everything I couldn't buy, soaked myself in purple and black and the good memories, not the bad ones. I went to the door and peered out at the field - green outfield, brown infield rimmed with a frost of white snow. Empty, waiting for spring, just like me, just like us. "I guess they don't let the grass die after all," said my sister. I didn't answer; I didn't need to. I was really home.

We went back, looked around the store, found that they were doing a buy-one/get-one on the black 2007 MLB Playoffs sweatshirts, and I managed to talk her into taking advantage of it. Before we left the store, we pulled off our jackets and put the sweatshirts on beneath them, then bundled up against the Denver cold. We headed out into the gray day, and I was left feeling warm all through in more ways than one. Thanks, Rockies. I needed that one.

So here I am at home - I leave for New York again on Monday to finish out the last three weeks of the semester, and then I'm home again for a month. I'm still working on exorcising all the bad/dark thoughts, but I'm definitely climbing back. I'll do my best to stick around... I look forward to hearing from you all again.

Snakes/Rox Clash -- Must We Hate?

Silverblood — Sun, 07 Oct 2007 05:16:42 -0000

Well, now that the NL West has come through to cast down the evil Central/East entrants to OUR postseason, it becomes clear that within the course of helping each other to our respective sweeps, we may have gotten to like each other a little too much. It is wonderful that we, Purple Row and AZ Snakepit, have united against the demons known as the morons known as the announcers of TBS and the "experts" at ESPN. And now... our teams face each other in the Championship Series for a bite of the biggest apple. We have become friends, comrades in arms, cheered for each other, and gotten to like each other a hell of a lot more than those damn Padres/Dodgers/Giants. We are the true class of the West, and our young, hungry, underrated teams will soon be living out the networks' worst nightmare. Ain't life grand?

Of course, this leaves us in the unenviable position of having to become enemies, and to wish nothing but the deepest, blackest destruction upon the outfits we were both supporting until night. Here the purple/black and black/red lines are drawn in the sand of the Arizona desert and the snow of the Colorado mountains. The sides must part. Battle is to be done. Pennants are to be won. Celebratory champagne is to be tasted.

And yet... we remain friends. And so, I extend an invitation for all of our new Snakepit buddies to stay on the Row and chat with us, get a friendly spark going, as long as you don't mind us coming to the 'Pit and doing likewise. But for the sake of the help we gave each other, and the unity we have found in cheering our NL BEST teams to this completely improbable juncture, let's keep it all in a spirit of good fun and sportsmanship. I love you guys, seriously, it's been great to hear the opinions of our NL West brethren. We have to hate each other, but let's not make it bitter. Enough of that going betweeen Cubs fans, eh?

One fanbase will be brokenhearted at the close of this series, but it's a foregone fact that we, Rowers and Pitters alike, will be pulling for the winner of this one on the biggest stage imaginable. If the Rockies lose, God forbid, then Snakes, wear that West crown well. If the Rockies win, as should happen, of course, we'll do our best to give you the consolation of having lost to the World Champs. We love our teams, we're eager to see them clash, and now, as October baseball gains a deeper and better meaning than ever...

GO ROCKIES!

SNAKES SUCK!

;)

Saving Your Sanity

Silverblood — Tue, 21 Aug 2007 05:30:16 -0000

This is the formalization of a few ideas I was kicking about in the game threads, and what I hope may help all of us suffering in solidarity here on the Row. After watching the team drop an utterly disheartening 4-2 decision to the woeful Bucs that all but precludes any chance of climbing back into the race, it's safe to say that we are all down, to put it mildly. So am I. I was absolutely disgusted with Hawkins when he yielded the tying homer to the terrifying Josh Phelps, and felt like putting my fist through the computer screen when Fuentes, Atkins, and Julio teamed up to doom us in the eleventh. Sometimes I want to kill myself, put my eyes out with hot bamboo spikes, or start rooting for the D-backs (not that I could ever love the Snakey Snakes) all of which seem preferable to wasting my hard-earned leisure team attempting to support this inept band of fools. Right?

Well, if anyone feels that way, I certainly don't blame them. It's hard to watch a team with so much potential bow down meekly to the Bobby Livingstons, Matt Morrises, etc., of the NL, while we're screaming at them to carry out the moves which seem so obvious to us. The management (or lack of) is still criminal on a number of levels, we have a bullpen whose closest comparison is the Titanic, and Brian Fuentes' continued presence, Garrett Atkins' continued inability to play defense, Todd Helton's continued inability to hit for power any more, Clint Hurdle's continued inability to wake up and smell the hummus, and Cory Sullivan, Clint Barmes, Elmer Dessens, and Ramon Ortiz. It's still just too easy to turn your back on them (and believe me, I've been tempted).

I will never be content with losing. I will never sit back and say that that is all right, that I won't expect anything more. For the love, time, and money I give this team, of course I expect a king's ransom in return, and would never be completely satisfied with anything but. I armchair-manage with the best of them, deridingly chronicling, in my estimation, "stupid" moves and helpfully offering a plethora of well-meant advice in its place. As a fan, of course I think I know better. I will never agree 100% with what the so-called brain trust does again. I will bang my head, curse, regret the day I loved the team, and sink into my chair and wish that a conveniently placed wormhole would remove either me or that day's offenders from the face of the planet. I have endured some of my worst rages this summer at the fates of the (currently woeful) hometown nine. I've also had some of my best memories.

I've gone to more Rockies games this year than I have in several previous years combined. I have some truly magical memories for my trouble (see my blog if you are interested in the particulars). When I return to school in September, my dorm room will be bedecked with purple and black mementos even if they haven't won a game since then (God, I hope not). I'll be going to the game for the last time this summer on August 24, my 19th birthday, and that makes me sad. I want to be with them, to watch them, and to give them what I can -- even though the bastards tend to pay me back in cold cash. As I've speculated elsewhere, sports fans have to be wired wrong, or have some masochism switch that is permanently depressed. We will curse, tear our hair, and howl our misery as the Rox start a landslide. And I can imagine that most of the Row will be salivating for 2008 anyway.

The Rockies are far from perfect. No major-league franchise is. They have too many flaws to compete this year, and I'm happy they stayed in it as long as they did. The pain I shall apparently have to endure for the rest of this year (as evidenced by the fact that they're still playing with their eyes closed, the clowns) will not come easy. It may be a relief when the season ends. I may be perfectly happy to get away from them for a while -- forgive me for being obvious, but nobody likes putting their heart through a meat grinder, breaking their spirit, feeling so absolutely low that you'd think a family tragedy had occurred, not a loss to the lowly Pirates (although for us, they may be on the same level).

For those of you who are still lost in the anger at a wasted shot, I do not blame you in the slightest. I still feel myself slipping back. This is an awfully hard team to love -- if we were the Marlins, we'd have a pair of world championships to see us through the bad times. We don't. But we have to have faith that eventually our suffering will be rewarded. We may all be in our wheelchairs, and if that's when they win it, we can all scare our nurses.

Rebuild this bullpen -- Fuentes has hit a wall, Affeldt and Hawkins simply cannot be trusted for an entire season, and Ramirez is still too mercurial. Promote Morillo, fast-track Weathers if feasible. See how far the coffers empty to get an extension for Holliday. Trade Helton if possible, move Atkins to first to save us from his "playing" third, and let Stewart get his shot at a starter. Re-sign Kaz if possible, ditch Barmes once and for all, and head into 2008 with Francis, Cook, Jimenez, Morales, and Hirsh helming the rotation, and Corpas standing out as a young stud closer.

Of course, that's just a fan's perspective. I doubt all of it will happen. And while I'm moving beyond anger to acceptance, I'm not all there yet -- I expect I'll be apoplectic the next time we squelch away a win. And so will you. It is your right to demand better of a talented team who seems to specialize in underwhelming and breaking hearts. It's aggravating beyond words to watch them treading water in areas we hoped they had fixed, or just standing still where they should be showing a more measurable improvement. But piece by piece, it's coming together. We have an excellent young core who I -- despite everything to the contrary -- am still excited to watch play the game I love. I know, I know. I have a problem. We all do.

This is by no means a call to be content with the still-inferior product we're putting on the field. I sure as hell am not, and keep devising imaginative ways to ritually sacrifice Hawkins, Fuentes, or Affeldt (although I have a feeling the Baseball Gods wouldn't find that a worthy offering). It's a call for a little patience, and perspective, and above all, just the ability to keep loving them. I expect that we will, after all. We're Rockies fans. It's not been easy before, why should it be now?

Unless you want to leave on them, of course. Go on, the link for AZ Snake Pit is there on the right-hand side of the page. And in which case, you do what you have to. I mean, pain as a whole is not necessarily a sensation I enjoy. My breakdown this past Saturday (non-sports related) was not something I am keen to repeat, and if you think I like watching film reels of the same old game and the same old mistakes... well, no. Definitely not. But I threatened to leave earlier in the year, realized I can't, and that I'm stuck. I do not precisely enjoy it. There are times when I debate the merits of going cold-turkey. But I've realized by now it just isn't going to happen.

So I'll manage, criticize, despair, curse, crawl under the covers, howl, go off the handle, hope, watch, anticipate, desire, plan, love, and be thrilled as far as the Purple Train goes. Hey, if I wanted to jump off, I think I'd have done so back in June. But nothing happened that was particularly painful, right? No road trip or anything happened, right? Good, because I don't remember it.

Good night, Purple Row, and perhaps the Rockies as well. Eventually the sun will rise again, and then perhaps we can all stitch our sanity back together again.

Real-Life Row Call: July 28

Silverblood — Mon, 09 Jul 2007 05:23:03 -0000

Okay, I'm following instructions here, people. I've been informed by Betsy and SlamDunkTheFunk that I should write a diary in order to organize a long-discussed and little-planned Purple Row get-together for the July 28th game against the Dodgers. (Perhaps our combined purple mojo can help our boys beat the bastards in blue, you know).

Here's the deal:

Definitely coming are:

Myself (Silverblood)

Sister (Squeaky)

Betsy (betsy)

A.J. (SlamDunkTheFunk)

We should attempt to get tickets all in the same section, or do a group purchase, so all of the Rowers can talk, socialize, banter, etc., as a group and get to know each other aside from screen names on Internet forums. I don't know where everyone usually sits, or how much price will be a factor, if we want to get tickets in advance, or what.

If you're interested, post below, and we can arrange to terrorize -- er, meet at -- Coors on July 28.

What color do ya bleed, anyway?

Silverblood — Thu, 03 May 2007 16:08:53 -0000

(Yes, yes, according to my own screen name, it's silver. And no, I'm not going for anatomical correctness here, otherwise we'd all be shuttled off to the hospital posthaste for reasons worse than having a fanatical devotion to our team. Which, hey, is not all bad. Now remember, no matter how depressed you are, no cutting yourself, not even to find what color you do in fact bleed. We know that it's purple and black and that's what counts. If you should happen to fall accidentally at a party, it's a great trick. But still, remember, children, don't try this at home).

So it has come to my attention that after last night's admittedly demoralizing loss to the steroided-up mass of bovine muscle and inflated head otherwise known as Barry Lamar Bonds, the whole of Rockies Nation is crying out to the heavens to know what they ever did to deserve being a fan of a constantly bad team. I myself, while inherently optimistic, am guilty of such lamentations and have joined my fellow purple-clad brethren while blaming Clint Hurdle, Steve Finley, Garrett Atkins, Steve Finley, Chris Iannetta, Steve Finley, John Mabry, Steve Finley, Nikita Khrushchev, Steve Finley, the Apollo 13 mission, the Walrus and the Carpenter, the kitchen sink, and Steve Finley for inspiring such bad luck in our boys. As fans, we love to theorize and dissect. We want to know what is wrong with Atkins' swing (and his defense) right this minute. We demand to know why in the hell we were forced to have the Terrible Twosome hit right one after another in the ninth inning, and of course we were second-guessing like crazy the reason that they ran Francis out for the eighth. We bitch and bellyache and threaten to leap off bridges. Then the next night we eagerly gather in the game thread and go at it again. If we were mental patients, we would make a fascinating study.

So why do we stick with our team? And why am I doing this? For one, I'm still in my scheduled procrastination time, which means I don't have to attempt to be productive until after lunch, and two, I was thinking about this last night, having stayed up past one yet again in order to watch what turned into yet another loss. There has to be something in our brains that makes us take the masochism day after day. So I thought about writing something funny, perhaps a parody of the "Knights of the Round Table" from Spamalot, but I realized that a) it's awfully hard to rhyme "Coors Field" and "hot dog" as well as "Camelot" and "spam," and b) it would just make everyone wonder what the heck I am smoking out here on the East Coast to keep my sanity until semester's over. (The answer, for your information, is nothing. Drug free, proud to be).

So I decided to do something else instead, on this long, boring off-day with no Rockies game to look forward to at the end. Whatever that chemical trigger in our brain is, that little bugger has got us good. We can thump ourselves on the back and proclaim that we are true fans, which may be true; if not, it makes us feel better. But it's true that this is a 14-year-old franchise that's just gotten going and hasn't exactly had its heyday yet, and despite the numbers of people who just like to see a game and go out to the park if they feel like it, the Rockies franchise does have - as exemplified by the membership of this site - a devoted, passionate, caring fan base that sticks by their team through all the bad times, even without any real good times to balance them out. We don't have a World Series title (or two, like the Marlins, our brothers in expansion, who have had some worse times than us to go with their rings) or even a championship series appearance. The last time we were in the playoffs, Dante Bichette, Larry Walker, and Vinny Castilla were our big stars, Don Baylor was managing, and Bob Gebhard was at the helm. So take that, Yankees fans, rooting for a team that's like Chevrolet or Coca-Cola, you with all your rings and legacy and nah-nah, hah-hah, how you liking that losing April? (Shhh... but we would like a good season too can you give us one of those 97-winners okay please thanks).

Yes, times have changed. But after suffering through the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune known as Mike Hampton, Charles Johnson, Jorge Piedra, Denny Neagle, Tom Goodwin, Neifi Perez (and, one hopes, Clint Barmes) we have built a core that rivals that the original Blake Street Bombers. We have good players again! It's a marvel. Matt Holliday, Garrett Atkins, and Brad Hawpe (and yes, the latter two will start hitting again) are stars. Tulowitzki and Iannetta are getting there. Helton is experiencing a massive reawakening. I know the reason I watch this team, even though they daily drive me to contemplate the merits of psychiatric medicine or a long walk off a short pier.

I love our guys. Holliday's big, goofy grin (which always makes me grin too), Atkins' funny ears and great smile, Hawpe's ski-jump nose, Tulowitzki's eagerness, Iannetta's brains, Cook's red hair (and his recovery), Hirsh the giant, Kaz the midget, even Helton's House of David homage. They're my boys. I feel like they're family. While this is wildly inaccurate in a genealogical sense, I sometimes feel like I pay more attention to them than I do to my actual family, so it's not all wrong.

I love baseball. We all do. I have pictures of Coors Field and tickets from games last year taped up on my bed. My baseball hats are on the end of the bed, my posters above it, my numerous baseball jerseys and shirts stuffed in my increasingly disordered drawers. I mentioned this in my post before Opening Day, but we watch the Rockies because we love our guys and we love the game. And that, to me, is one of the best things in the world. Last night in the game thread, we were sharing our experiences of how much we're addicted, and you know what? If there's a 12-step group for weaning your addiction to baseball, then I want to see it fall into Clint Barmes.

The management drives me nuts. It drives most of us nuts to some degree. But I'm not watching the team to carp on Hurdle's latest ill-advised decision (such as, say, Finley and Mabry pinch-hitting back to back? Yes, I'll get over that one, sorry). I watch the team to see the guys play. Because there's always that hope that something good is going to happen. And it does. This season hasn't been all bad. We could be the Nationals or the Royals. But hey, we're not.

I don't blame anyone for being frustrated. I have not enjoyed our assorted losses. I tend to think that we are inventing new ways to blow games, not hit in important situations, or implode on the mound. I myself have vented, stewed, bubbled, and mused, losing more minutes off my already scanty sleep time, as I wonder what in the heck can be done to pull all this talent we have together into a cohesive unit. I always think that the answer is a) Fire Clint Hurdle Now! and b) Free Ryan Spilborghs Now! But that's beside the point. We all have various theories. None of them might actually work in reality. But we're so involved that we're busy dreaming them up anyway.

The Rockies can be a tough team to root for. They can be so stubborn and they don't seem to realize the talent that they have. Everyone thinks they know what parts need to be moved, adjusted, promoted, demoted, expunged, included, prioritized, and eliminated. But that's what we do as fans. When the game comes down to the nine guys actually taking the field (and only nine, we don't have the DH because we're better, take that, Yankees. Nyah. We don't care that your DH hits 30 homers or so a year. We're still better. Nyah. Stop waving that championship banner, you haven't gotten one since 2000. Nyah) they're the ones playing it. All the outside influences in the world don't matter when it's those nine guys on that field with the ball, the bat, the glove, and Steve Finley, and because we are Rockies fans, they are ours. So let's keep on giving them all we've got. *

Besides, you think this early-season skid is bad? Wait until September, when we're tied with the Diamondbacks for the wild-card lead and Hurdle gives the ball to Hawkins in the eighth inning of the tiebreaker....

* Silverblood is not responsible for any insanity, mental breakdowns, depression, slipping job/school/home life, neuroticism, paranoia, general lunacy, prescription medications, divorce lawyers, irate bosses, high Internet bills, high therapy bills, or assorted other detrimental side effects that may result from following her advice. Some restrictions apply. See store for details.