On Winning
On Thursday, the Washington Nationals won the World Series and I still cannot believe it.
Last night, Jeremy and I rewatched Damn Yankees. In my defense, I remember it being a good movie.
Instead, what we watched was a movie about a woman whose husband leaves her without explanation (“Goodbye Old Girl” does not count) and when he does return months later — like, we’re in post-season at this point — she says “Where were you?” before bashfully saying, “Oh I shouldn’t ask you that. You don’t need to tell me.” And then — get this — he doesn’t tell her. He doesn’t tell her that he sold his soul to the devil in order to become a great baseball player for the Washington Senators. He doesn’t tell her that he cheats on her with a witch or that he’s been manipulating her by staying in her house as a 22-year-old boarder or that he’s sorry for ignoring her for basically their entire marriage. No. Instead it fades to black and the credits roll and we’re all supposed to see this as catharsis.
Anyway, it’s bad. What isn’t bad is that the Washington Nationals won the World Series on Thursday.
I started writing this blog post this morning and it’s been a true journey since then. I hit “save,” interviewed an incredible educator at the Seattle Opera, ate lunch, and then did a little Twitter check in to see where my glorious Washington Nationals are now.
Little know fact: Yesterday I was legitimately sad because Ryan Zimmerman, who has been with the Nationals for as long as the Nationals have been a team, was released from his contract. “Won’t he miss his friends?!” I shouted. I actually shouted this. You can ask Jeremy.
Today, I’m not sad at all. I’m not sad at all because I saw a photo of Ryan F***ing Zimmerman presenting a Nationals jersey to Donald Trump. And then I read this:
I also saw catcher Kurt Suzuki wearing a MAGA hat. Which, Jesus Christ, why? Sports journalist Molly Knight put it best when she said that the Nationals’ visit to the White House looked like a MAGA rally.
Over the weekend, my favorite Nat Sean Doolittle announced that he would not be attending the White House visit. (There’s an incredible Washington Post story about it. You really should read it.) Others quietly followed suit: Rendon, Guerra, Ross, Suero, Difo, Taylor, Robles, Elías, Read, Barrera. These names may mean nothing to you, but I’m proud of them. I’m proud of them even though I know that this is only one-third of the team.
It’s been strange watching this team win.
To start, I haven’t actually been watching them much. Life and time zones and a lack of actual television service made it tricky to keep up with their now infamous season of losses. But once they became the wildcard pick, I was watching them as much as humanly possible, borrowing my grandmother’s cable log in as they moved from TBS to FOX.
I slept through every game of the World Series. I literally did. A trip to Europe — my first time taking a vacation outside North America — lined up perfectly with games one through six. And who actually takes the series all the way to game seven? Well, the Nats do.
When my plane landed, they were down by two. We shuffled through customs, took the LINK to the bus, and then magically they were up by one. We were hungry and tired but there was no way I was sleeping through this game too. So I watched the last hour. And then I watched the MVP ceremony because I was making up for lost time. And because I was hoping the award would go to Juan Soto or Anthony Rendon. How many players of color have been passed up for MVP? Who has the stats on this?
The award went to Strasburg, who today stood in front of a crowd of fans on the White House lawn, all chanting “Four more years.”
Whether that was a reference to Strasburg opting out of his contract or Donald Trump’s presidency, who can say. I never imagined that this win would be so tangled up in politics. These were my boys.
Just as I was about to hit “publish” on this blog post — a story with no real ending — a tweet from Michael Schur popped up on my feed: “Baseball players make it so hard to like baseball.” I guess this is what I’m saying. I love this team. I’m damn proud of them. But yes. Baseball players make it so hard to like baseball.
Good riddance, I guess. I still love you.