Angels Home Opener and the Disappointments That Just Keep on Coming…
Yes, Seth and I did continue our relatively new tradition of attending the Angels home opener this year. And, yes, that was the better part of a week ago and I should have posted about it days ago. But I’ve sort of been holding off, waiting for the Angels to give me a reason to write something positive and cheerful. *sigh* Can you blame a girl? At this point I can see that the Angels are just mired in a terrible slump right now and it may take them awhile to work through it, a fact I am embracing with the sort of frustrated patience and loyal resignation that may indeed be unique to sports fans. However, thinking back on the Angels’ opening day, I can honestly say that even knowing today how the rest of the series turned out, that initial walking through the gates magic of the home opener still stands, and that seemed worth writing about.
Weeknight baseball games in the greater Los Angeles/Orange County area are tricky to time right under the best of circumstances. First pitch is at 7:05. Seth and I get off work at 6…ish…often a very large ish. And traffic is, well, storied and with reason. By now we’re pros at getting to the stadium, rushing to our section and sinking into our seats just in time for first pitch. Arriving any earlier takes a certain amount of luck and luck was not on our side that evening. We missed the dramatic home opener team introductions, the giant flag on the field and most of the other Opening Day traditions.
No matter. We caught the flyover from the parking lot and looking straight up at six WWII AT-6 fighters flying low in formation is all kinds of cool no matter where you’re standing. Watching the planes bank and head away while the stadium staff checked bags and tickets helped settle me out of rushing mode and into a more celebratory frame mind – a helpful reminder that this was not just any game. The feeling continued and grew as we rushed through the stadium toward our seats, goose bumps of anticipation rising on my arms as all of those familiar Angels pre-game sounds surrounded us. Train’s Calling All Angels. The historical news reels announcing the creation of the Angels franchise and subsequent team milestones. Thin Lizzy’s The Boys Are Back in Town as the guys start to take the field, all prompting a welling of excited emotions that led to the following internal exchange – yes, I talk to myself and myself talks back. What of it?
Are you…are you crying? No. S’dusty. The stadium’s barely been used in months.
Good. Because you know that thing about baseball? That thing about how there’s absolutely no crying in it? No, really. S’just dusty. Really, really dusty.
Okaaaaay, so I teared up a little…er…a lot. I will cop to becoming strangely emotional and sentimental over really odd things. But, hey, it was the home opener. Tears may have been a little over the top but if you’re a baseball fan and your home opener doesn’t provoke some sort of emotional response, might I suggest a trip to the doctor’s to check up on your heart, because it’s already clear that you have no soul.
And if only the game itself had been at all good. As good C.J. Wilson handily dealing with those first two batters, perhaps, before he began to blow chunks, giving up three runs before the Angels were able to finally make that third out. Or, as good as innings three through six, perhaps, after Wilson had, quite admirably, calmed down and pitched well and the Angels started to score, eventually taking a small lead. If only any of the things, then that initial, walking through the gates excitement would have remained even if the A’s had still managed to win. But as it stands? With the miscues. The bad pitches. The sloppy play. The 13 frickin’ LOBsters! The eventual near blowout. That excitement remains relegated to the joy of being back at the stadium after the long winter away and is far removed from the game itself. *sigh* Some seasons are like that.
Now, if only I could laugh about my own disappointment over one game out of 162. But the Angels’ had been paying well, well below their potential leading up the home opener and it seems to be getting worse. Like I said at the beginning of this post, I’m resigned to the fact that this is just something the team is stuck in the middle of and might not find their way out of for a while. Meanwhile the injuries, starting with Jered Weaver, and the other hits just keep on coming. I firmly believe that this is not what the rest of the season will look like. This team is too talented to never find their rhythm and play well together. Now, will they be able to that before they lose enough games that they’ve effectively blown their season in April no matter how well they play May through September? Well, that is the $127.8 million question, now isn’t it? I honestly do not have a feel for the answer right now and I am dying for some sign of life for the team to justify even the smallest return of my usual sunny optimism.
I can tell you what I do know though. As a fan this just feels icky right now. My brain is a morass of conflicting thoughts, all of them tending toward the grumpy. I absolutely do not want to hear, ‘It’s early still. I mean, this is a marathon not a sprint.’ and the usual platitudes as if this is no big deal. With each game the Angels play like this, we draw exponentially closer to too late. At the same time, don’t let me hear anyone saying it’s over. Not yet. The season is in real danger but it could still be salvageable, so just take that talk right on over to someone else’s blog. Oh and, warning, because this behavior is already showing up on Twitter and FaceBook in full force, if anyone starts quoting that lame, pointless and beyond trite, “But back in 2002 the Angels started the season terribly and…” to me, I really will start throwing things at you. Yes. Through the internet.
And now, I am out of time. I am heading off to my second game of the year, so I may post catch up photos from Opening Day later, and hopefully with a brain spinning with the sort of giddy, early optimism that a few wins this weekend could still bring out in me.