Woosh. Thump. Pause. Woosh. Thump. Woosh. Crack. Woosh. Cheers.

When the ball flies, it is then I realize how dead I’ve felt inside for 191 days. Yes, 191 days it has been since the ball has flown. Too long. I’ve been counting and waiting. And this moment is almost here. It’s just leather soaring through the air to most, but I know why my heart is excited to see this for the first time in a while. I’ve been through this awesome torture each year around the same time, but it doesn’t make it less intense.

When the ball flies into the little kid's gloves, you know it’s time. It’s everywhere. Not only are the little kids playing it, the big kids are too. Swinging off tees. Giving up 20 runs. Having a catch. The game is waking up. It’s outside my window. It’s in the park. It’s even on the video game console. So it’s time.

When the ball flies into the batting cage, the players take practice swings for real games. The food is getting prepared. The butterflies getting more intense. Pitchers stand around telling stories. Fans stand around telling stories. Remember when. Just watch.

The remember whens are more vivid. Remember when the player hit it over there. Remember when he threw this many innings. Remember that year. Remember how we felt at the beginning. Remember when could happen again. Just watch. Watch for our stars and the great plays they’ll make: the scoops, the running catches, the jump throws. The young guys break out, round the bases, unleash violence on opposing hitters. Watch for the walkoff, or the complete game. Watch the new guys come steal our hearts. Watch how our team fits together. Watch, we’ll win games, we say. In five years will this year be another remember when?

When the ball flies into the crowd, we feel happy. The kid who got the ball is happy. The player who tossed it in is happy. We have hope of snagging another one. In baseball there’s always another chance. So we wait. And tell more stories. And eventually we have a part of the game to bring home.

When the flag flies, we pause, “kindly remove our caps”, and maybe sing. Remember why we can. And be thankful that we’re sitting here about to watch baseball. For a couple minutes we feel American, well even more American. Hey, the pastime’s about to start. Right after “…the brave” we put on our caps in a declarative, proud sort of way. And clap for the song, but also for the beginning of the game.

When the ball flies out of the arm, it begins. There's a tiny moment in time before it reaches the plate. A moment of uncertainty. Ball, or strike. Hit fair or foul. We wait, and the sound tells of the result. We do it again for each pitch count. Again, uncertainty. Uncertainty is always here though. It makes the game intruiging. Win, or loss? Who will bat where? Will he pan out? Grow up? Break out? Regress? So much uncertainty for a small moment in time. But it will take many of these moments all summer, even if it's just beginning now.

When the ball flies out from home plate off the bat, there's a jump of excitement. The sudden action makes us wonder where the ball will land. The good guy threw it, the bad guy up to bat. Will it be caught? Sometimes when the ball flies it requires a little extra effort. He runs and crashes into the fence, leaving us to wonder if he caught it, or more importantly, if he's alright. If it's caught on the bounce, we have to trust it'll make it across the diamond or all the way back to home. The best part is when the ball flies half-way across the diamond, then the rest of the way, completing a double play. The players trust each other, so we trust them to do their job, beautifully.

Sometimes the ball flies the wrong way, takes a bad hop, or the player gets a bad read. Sometimes the season doesn't go as planned. Sometimes players turn out performing totally different than we thought they would. Sometimes the ball is dropped at the last second, and disappointment steals the show. Sometimes, when you think you're out of the inning, the ball manages to find places to be where you don't want it to. Sometimes in a season things go wrong when nothing more can. Then you have to find a way to end the inning, maybe bring in a new pitcher. Maybe nearly rebuild your team and bring in new players. Errors are a part of the game. We move on.

When the ball flies...it cracks against the bat and takes off for the clouds. There's a chance it might leave the park. There's always a chance. It flies on, the wind carries it. The player starts to round the bases. It flies further, making an arc. Maybe if the ball flies out, things will change. The score will be in our favor, the series. Maybe if it flies out, everything will be okay. Those seconds we are allowed to evaluate, and maybe hope. It's okay to hope. The ball flies, hopes fly. Dreams fly too. The hope gets in your eyes but you have to keep them open, watching the ball fly.

Because when the ball flies, even if it ends in an out, an error, or a home run, you just have to watch.

I don’t know where I’m gonna get the time, or why I have to do this, but I feel I have to do this.

The Rockies traded Huston Street. Huston Street is gone.

It’s not a big shock: I knew this was coming, long before the hot stove started heating up. I see the logic. I hope it works out. It’s not a big shock: the Rockies just traded Chris Iannetta too. It’s not a big shock: I’m totally emotionally stable right now, unlike the Ubaldo trade.

I guess I need to talk about it though.

So this is a story. A story about me mostly, and how Huston Street weaved his way into being one of my favorite players.

Continue reading this post »

I recently stayed up very late having a heated debate with my siblings about a very important matter: if the Rockies were a Marvel or DC superhero or villain, who would they be? Opinions flew, and it got me thinking. Since Hollywood hasn't gotten around to making that movie about the Rockies (seriously- do they want us to actually win the World Series or something?), I thought it'd be fun to explore some of the possibilities, since it's the freaking All Star Break, and gosh, I'm already bored (why else would I be awake at this hour writing this post, of all things), and don't think I should do another poll like I did last year for two reasons. 1. I have an opinion now. 2. The winning of the poll by Seth Smith jinxed his second half. Sorry, Seth.

Anyway...superhero movies...oh, yeah. So if the next superhero movie was getting cast, who would your favorite Rockie be? Ever thought that a player would play a certain role? Who are the villains?  Does good triumph evil? (Of course!)

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My dad taught me how to ride a two-wheeler, bait a hook, blast a .22, and drive a minivan. He did not teach me how to field a grounder or how one might keep score. I had to learn that myself. As a kid, one of my younger siblings would run around the four bases after making contact with a pitch from another sibling- clockwise, I might add- in attempt to knock down the remaining kid who was the catcher. This was our knowledge of baseball, and we learned it from watching A League of Their Own one night.

My dad taught us the fundamental stuff, like how important God, family and education was. Sports was something he never really immersed us in- even though I was old enough to remember, I can't recall the Broncos winning a Super Bowl. He told us though, that "you gotta support the home team", if you're going to support anyone. Occasionally, we would go down my grandma's house to watch some Monday Night Football, or sometimes the radio was left on a broadcast of a Rockies game, but none of us paid attention to what happened. Attention was not wasted on sports teams "that never really did anything for us"...until that fateful year.

It was April 2007. I had decided in my heart to start paying attention to baseball, and chose the Rockies thanks to my correct upbringing in choosing the local team. My fandom started out small. I read the Rocky Mountain News every morning when I woke up and read all the articles about the Rockies. On the days after I knew was a big game, I would scramble out of bed anxious to see if they won. I kept it a secret. I never told anyone that I was interested in our local major league baseball team, but every day they won I couldn't help feeling happy, and the days after they lost I would mutter "aw, man". Eventually my brothers and sister started noticing my muttering, and would make fun of me for my patheticness.

In August, my dad got some free tickets to a Rockies game. They were in section 114, and I couldn't hide my enthusiasm, even though the game wasn't until Labor Day. Not only had my siblings begun to notice, but my dad did also. "I didn't know you were a Rockies fan," he said to me one day in my parent's walk-in closet, full with a lot of junk including a 2004 ALCS shirt his buddy had given him, and numerous hats, at least four of which were Rockies hats. "Uh, yeah...," I shrugged sheepishly. He took a hat and handed it to me. It was his only purple Rockies hat, for most of them were the black with purple CR hats. This one was beautiful: the most beautiful deep purple color with a silver and black CR logo. The strap was Velcro adjustable, and the MLB logo was on the side. I had my first official Rockies hat.

So in September, I attended my first Rockies game (I had gone to a game in April 1995 during the strike, but that didn't really count, and I couldn't remember it anyway). Even though the weather was hot, the game was awesome, and the Rockies ended up beating the Giants that day. My dad, sitting next to me, asked "So do you know any of the players?" I thought about telling him of the guys I read a lot in the paper: Matt Holliday- who was having an incredible season, Troy Tulowitzki- the rookie, Todd Helton, Jeff Francis...but I didn't tell him. I didn't want him to think I was starting to become a freak.

A few weeks later, the Rockies were winning a lot. "Your Rockies are winning a lot" my dad told me the morning they would end up losing against the Diamondbacks during the huge streak. But as a family, we started paying more attention to the games, and hovered around the radio through the rest of September and throughout Rocktober. We even went over my grandma on my mom's side's house to watch some of the games. But at any rate, when Rocktober ended, my life had changed, and theirs was about to.

For a while there, I was the number one fan of the Rockies and sole representative in my family. Now that sounds great and all, but it's not fun. I had a couple friends I could talk baseball with, but baseball is a game shared between generations, traditionally from father to son. I'm a daughter, which is close enough I guess, but baseball didn't come from Daddy (I suppose that makes me a mutant). Yeah, a few whiffleballs flew out of my dad's left hand in the backyard, but I still couldn't really share the game totally and fully with him just yet.

I talked a lot in the offseason. My dad and the rest of my family got sick of it, and told me to "stop talking about the Rockies: they're not even playing!". But the season started and I talked more. They got annoyed more. I guess my dad figured out that his little girl had fallen in love, and even though he could not understand or defend that, he still supported that. He would ask me how the Rockies were doing, and I would try to explain as simply as possible. He'd ask what Tulo's batting average was, just to make sure I wasn't keeping track. I would throw a number out in the vicinity, although I knew full well the exact one. He would yell at me from my room to make sure I didn't have the Rockies on the radio. He knows me too well. I'd have to turn it off and go do a chore or something.

Three years and 500-odd games listened/watched/attended later, things have changed...slowly. The Rockies, my dad, my purple hat, and I have been through a lot together. Like when I begged to go to batting practice on Opening Day and he grumbled but still took me. Or in 2008 when his bus broke down, and we had to pick him up, but still made it to the game. Or the Spilly Slam, in which my mom complained about the boringness of the whole game, and my dad complained that he had to work, so we left after the 12th. And how, at a game later that same year, he remembered my agony of missing that epic game, and decided to stay when Huston Street blew a save and the game went extra-innings (Chris Iannetta hit a walkoff home run that night). Or when he looked at me a little strangely when I yelled and screamed and cried after Game Four. Or when he put up with a jerk punk Giants fan in San Francisco because of the Todd Helton shirt on his back. Or when he took me to The Catch play, and we both ended up loving it, even though we were late, and it was below zero outside. Or when he woke up with me before the crack of dawn to stand in line for Opening Day tickets (and took me early again to BP at Opening Day).

Yeah, it's been fun. But the most fun parts are the little things- the small moments that I'll remember forever. Like singing Hey Baby and being goofballs together. Or guessing the pitch type and speed of each pitch. Making fun of Joe Beimel's routine. Acting like we're broadcasting the game. Or laying down on the Coors Field grass listening to The Who as fireworks explode above us.

Our family's way of life has changed. Everyone knows I'm a freak, and I'm not afraid to show it. Now, I even think we all talk about the Rockies way too much. But I'm glad. I have passed baseball up, across, and sideways to my family. My sister, though she'd never admit it, is way more knowledgable than the drunk behind you. I know that's not sayin' much, but it's a start. On my brother's birthday wish list is a Ryan Spilborghs jersey...right underneath a Tim Tebow jersey. My other little brother broke the plastic bat as he was hitting a piñata, because he was emulating the swing of Matt Holliday, who he got to meet when he was five. My grandma gets mad when we take her to a game and Spilly is starting instead of Seth Smith, and whenever she comes over, she asks me to turn on the radio. My dad tells her she's almost as bad as me. My mom keeps telling me that Jhoulys Chacin is awesome....like I didn't know that. I can start blathering about baseball at any given time, and not have to worry too much how simple my language is. If you'd look at us all now, you'd think we descended from a family of baseball fans.

My dad will wonder aloud, "Where did I ever go wrong that you became a baseball fan? What happened?" "There's nothing you could've done- I fell in love." My dad will shake his head. I know he still doesn't get it: how baseball is the greatest game in the world. But every once in a while, my dad will ask me if I wanna catch a game sometime, and I know it's not because he's a Rockies fan, but because he loves me.

I'm working on that first part.

Anticipation. Excitement. The day we had all been waiting for. That day when life went back to normal and all was right in the world. Opening Day. Opening Day never disappoints. Whether it’s your 19th, 14th, or 2nd, the sorrow that has been held up for so long bubbles up and explodes into pure joy. It’s only a game, they say. Just the first of many. It’s more than a game, though. The grass is green again, the sky is blue, and a ball makes that THWUMP sound falling into a leather glove. Hope and joy abound. Everything is alright now. It’s Opening Day.

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Or, Crazy Optimistic Predictions I Wrote While Wearing My Purple Glasses

A new season is nearly upon us, so I thought I’d share some things I would like to happen, or at least would be fun if they did happen.  I have an extra pitcher of purple kool-aid and plenty of cases of Rockahol, if you want to join me…

Continue reading this post »

Welcome to a special edition of Rockaholics Anonymous! In this session, I analyze the time of the year known as the offseason.

The offseason: noun 1. The other 5-6 months of the year in which Rockaholics begin showing symptoms of withdrawal, including but not limited to: temporary physical and mental illness, strange (stranger than normal) behavior, and severe separation anxiety. 2. The most horrible time of the year.

Any normal purple-blooded Rockaholic hates the offseason. It’s awful torture. What the heck are you supposed to do for six months anyways? You mean I actually have to do my homework in the evenings?

During the season, we get so spoiled. We’re so spoiled as baseball fans anyways, with there being 162 guaranteed Rockies games to follow. Every so often, there is a Crestfallen off day and the treacherous three days in July known as the All-Star break to remind us what living with baseball is like, but seriously, 180 days without baseball is enough to make one go mad- and it does.

You’re doing perfectly fine one fall day, just loving the Rockies, then it ends- just like that- and the offseason hits you coldly in the face. The radio gets unplugged, for there’s no real use for it otherwise, and then you sit there in your chair that you use to watch/listen to the games on with this empty, lonely feeling for a few days. The chair gets covered with laundry and other junk. You then try to distract yourself with other things, like other sports or work, with a lot of deadlines. You hope all the deadlines will make the 180 days go by quicker without making you lose your sanity, because deadlines always come and sneak up on you too quick. Then you wait. And wait.

During the offseason, you go through a lot of highs and mostly lows. To illustrate the highs and lows of the 2010-2011 offseason, I made a graph (because we Rowbots, nerds and non-nerds alike, like graphs). The y-axis represents the level of craziness, and the x-axis represents the time in months.  

Continue reading this post »

This fanpost is for sharing extra codes to purchase tickets to Opening Day and the Fireworks games. The sale is Tuesday, from 10 til 10, I believe.You can only purchase 4 at a time.

Have an extra code or two? Don't have an extra code and REALLY wanna go to Opening Day?

Bragging how close you will be to the field or the jet flyover goes here, too.

***REMEMBER: this is not for buying or selling actual tickets- do it privately if you must****

Have at it folks, and good luck!

Disappointing. Exciting. Heartbreaking. Any of these words can be used to describe the 2010 season. It was a season of mile high expectations, expectations that were not reached. We thought for sure this was the year, but in the end, we were too short of the playoffs, the magic spent on a few (well, a lot) of amazing victories. You can say we failed. We were supposed to win the World Series this year, after all! But, this year was not a failure. That is not how we should remember this season.

In a couple decades, we will be telling legends of this season. Maybe to our kids or grandkids, maybe to a younger fan who will be too young to have remembered these things. In any case, we will be telling them the great legends of the season that was 2010…

Continue reading this post »

The last game at Coors Field.

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A chronology of prettyinpurple's journey into enemy territory, and experiences while there...

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Yay! Congrats, Seth! You deserve it!

Seth Smith was the winner, making a strong push at the very end to stay ahead of Dexter Fowler, who got 2nd place. It may be speculated that Seths shave gave him two extra votes, but that is debatable.

Apparantly, there isn't a picture of Seth and his beard on google.

Troy Tulowitzki and Ubaldo Jimenez get 3rd and 4th place. They gave Smith some competition.

It also may be speculatedd that the votes for Tulo were fraudulent, but whatever. We love him.

Honorable mention goes to Greg Smith, who recieved 2 votes. You tried!

Also, we have a good looking team! Dont forget about Cargo, Huston, Ian, and Iannetta! Even though Jason Giambi, Manny Corpas. and Melvin Mora combined for 0 votes.

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Who is the best looking Rockies player in the 2010 season?

 Please vote on this silly poll, you have nothing better to do after all....and dont just vote for your favorite players, even if they are the best looking, but of that is the reason you chose them, that's really wrong; )

And remember...this is plain dumb looks, and stats dont matter on this poll. The lamest player could be named the best looking, even if his BA is unattractive.

Vote honestly please.

 It was a Beatiful Day- the exact song by U2 played while we walked up to Coors Field on. I came armed with my shoelaces and sign early, welcoming the Rockies home. Here I am standing on the purple strip of paint painted on the day before.

The Player, looking good on Opening Day, 15 minutes before Gate D would open.

  Fans waitied anxiously for the gates to open.

Finally, they open! Halelujah! Cheers arose around the gate area.

Clear skies and a slight breeze- what more can one ask for?

There was even the sweet smell of baseball: freshly cut grass and hot dogs.

I went down to the rail and got a good spot in the front row to seek autographs.

While we waited, the media (Denver Post and FSN) photographed me- now I am famous!

Watching batting practice and cheering as the players walked by was awesome:

"Cookie, your hair! It's.....long!.....I still don't know how I feel about your hair."

"Seth please sign my magazine!" (Seth walks by, unfazed, being cool.) "Oh well. Your awesome!"

Tulo, Stewart, Barmes, and Todd stretching after batting practice.

A bunch of people and I were yelling in hopes of getting autographs:

" Todd! Todd! Please, Todd! Tulo! Troy! Mr. Tulowitzki? Barmes!"

Jim Tracy came to sign. He never came towards our area, though. Hours (it felt like) later, after BP AND stretching, Todd walks over to the kid next to me to do sigs! The kid had a sign that read, "You're the reason I'm here Todd!"

 "Thanks for your loyalty!" I said

"Yep" (or something) Todd muttered.

 He then signed my Rockies magazine.

You're awesome, Todd!

Spilly then came by, and I aggressively went to get his sig. He signed my Spilly Slam ticket.

"Thank you so much!" I said.

The balloons are let off after our National Anthem. Play Ball!

My first hotdog of the year! Sweet Deliciousness!

I got back to my seat, then proceded to spill mustard on my skirt.

Everything else was beautiful- the mountains, the game, the weather.

It was an awesome Opening Day!

Why the Rockies Will Win the National League West,

the Pennant, and Ultimately the World Series

Now, this story is no scientific observation, “professional opinion”, or specific statistics on why we have the best team and contains no graphs showing why we will win it all (though I am sure you can find those stories and numbers).

This is a breakdown of the way we could beat every team in the MLB- it’s all in our name. For this illustration, imagine if the name of our team (the Rockies for the Rocky Mountains) were uprooted and dropped on the other teams’ names. The Rockies would smash them all…

Continue reading this post »

Okay, you might be saying , "Hey, pip I wanted to win, why are creating more competition?" Well, if someone wins, I'd rather it be one of us, so...

850 KOA Wants to Send You To Opening Day!

Just listen at 7:20am and 5:30 pm starting Monday, the 29th, and you could win an all-expense paid trip to April 5th Opening Day IN MILWAKEE! Includes flight, lodging, and more!

I think we will probably have to call (I will update w/ more details) 303-631-2850 303-713-8585.

Good luck!

I’m sitting here, trying to think what words to type to the last Rockaholics article (for awhile). Well, it’s been a nice offseason, almost as nice as it could be, and the best one for me, since I did not suffer or show signs of withdraw from Rockahol that bad. So it’s bittersweet, for I know that Baseball Season is starting soon, but almost sad because this is, after all, the last Rockaholics Anonymous session. (For awhile).

Alright, I’ve put it off long enough, so here is my final written observation (for awhile) of the disorders of Rockaholics…

Rockaholic (rock-uh-HOL-ic)

1. noun: One that consumes mass quantities of Rockahol and is therefore addicted to it.

2. noun. The primary language spoken by Rockaholics.

Okay, this month we will be studying the language of Rockaholics. Ever been talking about the Rockies to a non-Rockaholic and they give you this weird look like you’re speaking a totally different language? That’s because you were.

Non-Rockaholics do not understand us because they do not speak our first language. We speak theirs, but only when we have to. They do not understand you if you say, “I Spilly you” or “+1”. RBIs (sometimes pronounced ribees), NLDS, WAR, HRs (homers), ERA (etc, etc,) are foreign words that they have to search their brains for the meaning to, if they’ve even heard of the word. Terms spoken in other situations besides baseball such as pitcher, up the middle, magic number, popup, and not to mention all of the nicknames (Cargo, Cookie, Tulo, Dex) are mistaken for the less important meaning of the words. Trying to engage in a conversation that’s already going between multiple Rockaholics is near impossible.

Ah, stinks to be them.

It works both ways. Since Rockaholic is my main language, I automatically think of the Rockaholic term to each of the above words (cargo, cookie, too low, Dex™). A side effect of being a Rockaholic. I find myself talking about the advantages of a larger outfield when setting up home plate in the backyard, then quickly shutting up because my siblings haven’t the foggiest what I’m speaking to them. I could rattle on about the last game I went to just to speak the beautiful language.

Of course, non-Rockaholics aren’t totally ignorant. Living with or talking to a Rockaholic every day, you pick up a few words of the language. Even asking who’s pitching tomorrow or how many years Helton has left on his contract is an improvement. During the playoffs, everyone wants to be a Rockaholic, and naturally they go to the Rockaholic in their family/school/circle of friends or whatever to temporarily supply them with Rockahol or give them a little tidbit of information so they could at least understand what is goin’ on in this game. Rockaholism bleeds out, so don’t ever stop speaking it!

No baseball fan has to explain his mania to any other baseball fan. They are a fraternity. It is less easy, often it is hopeless, to try to explain it to anyone else. You grow technical, and you do not make sense. You grow sentimental, and you are deemed soft in the head. How, the benighted outsider asks you with no little condescension, can you grow sentimental about a cold-blooded professional sport?

~ John K. Hutchens, author

This quote basically says it all. Rockaholics understand each other, non-Rockaholics don't. In every baseball fan, there is a technical and sentimental side (I'm probably 40-60 respectively), but when they are talking baseball with each other it doesn't matter. Don't ever mess with a Rockaholic conversation: if you are a non-Rockaholic, you will plain misunderstand. If you are a Rockaholic having a nice Rockaholic conversation, and a non-Rockaholic tries to mess it up or change the subject (because of their boredom), just start speaking Rockaholic really fast, and they will be confused and not understand a word you said. "Yeahdidyouseethegamelastnight?TroyTrevorTulowitzkiwentfiveforfiveandhitaHRsonowweareintheleadandaregoingtothepostseasonandCookiewasgreathepitchedacompletegame.

SethSmithMr.LateNightwhoIalsocalltheJesusfreakhitapinchhithomerandtheRockiesaresoawesomewearegoingtowinalotbut

I'mworriedaboutFranciswhocamebackfromsurgerythisyearheneedstoworkonhiscontrol.(yad, yada, yada.)

Problem solved.

 Yeah, so I love speaking Rockaholic. My family goes crazy when I start spewing out foreign words, but I don't care. Purple Row has helped me a lot this offseason, since I get to vent some in Rockaholic. Never take real baseball conversations for granted, and never stop speaking Rockaholic.

My name is prettyinpurple, and I am, and I speak Rockaholic.

CheeRs!

 The End (for now).

The sequel to Andrew T. Fisher's "What does Your Name Mean?".

Everybody should have an avatar.

If you don't, get one. (Really, it would be nice, but I guess you don't have to. But if you don't you can't be a part of this fanpost!)

Okay, avatars are a way to represent or even picture oneself. So, explain how/why you chose your avatar. Is it just a picture of one of your favorite players or moments? Is it something that you feel represents you/your likes/background? An actual picture? Where was it taken?

Have fun!