After years and years of darkness, 8 years of The Process, spring training, 162 grueling regular season games, and an 11-4 postseason record, losing by a measly 90 feet is just so so painful.
When we won the Wild Card game a month ago, I remember fans exclaiming that they never had a doubt that we would win (I still don’t believe them), but last night I may have felt something similar…I never really thought we were going to lose. I thought we had it. From the first pitch to the final out, I thought we had it.
Alex Gordon’s hit that Gregor Blanco misplayed felt like confirmation of that belief. It was just a matter of time. The game was never going to end 3-2, I just knew it.
Then when Salvador Perez came up, it was like the Wild Card game all over again. Sal played the hero in that game, and he would play the hero again in Game 7. But he didn’t. Instead, he popped out to Pablo Sandoval in front of the visitors dugout. Panda secured the ball, fell backward on to the grass and the rest of the Giants players mobbed him.
The Giants – not the Royals – are the 2014 World Series champions.
Kauffman Stadium went silent. It felt like a scene out of Gravity, like we were all Sandra Bullock and George Clooney floating in outer space while the San Francisco Giants celebrated around us in the void.
I just stood there, stunned. The thought crossed my mind that if maybe I stood there long enough, something might happen where we’d get another chance – as if the umpire would realize that, oops, there were only two outs, or maybe the final catch would need to go to instant replay, or that suddenly we’d all discover that it was only the 8th inning and we had another opportunity next inning.
It was real.
That was it.
The tears started to come. I fought them. I got a text from my dad around then that said, “Sorry buddy. Hurts.” More tears. More fighting. It dawned on me that win or lose, about two months of pent up emotion needed to be released. It was either going to be in immense joy, or in the form of some very ugly crying.
Then something truly amazing started happening – we all started chanting “Let’s go, Royals!” while the Giants celebrated. We were proud of our team. We were hurt – crushed, really – but we were proud to be standing where we were, feeling as bad as we did.
I’ve never experienced heartbreak as a fan quite like this before. I don’t like it, but it’s better than the alternative. Wouldn’t we all rather feel this – whatever THIS feeling is – than continue to feel nothing like we have for so many years?
In fact, I’m thankful for this feeling. It hurts so badly, but I am still so thankful.
I am thankful for how this season has touched my life, the lives of my friends and family, and my city. The 2014 Royals united a city and uncovered a love for baseball that had been long forgotten and many never knew existed. Kids want to be baseball players for Halloween this year. I had two different students tell me this week they’re considering going out for baseball this year – a game they’ve never played before because they “could never get into it.”
Casual Royals fans understand the intricacies of the game now. This success has created a new generation of fans in KC. It’s a new culture, really, and it’s a culture I’ve always longed for. Today, I can confidently say that I live in a baseball town. KC is back on the baseball map, and I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.
Thank you, Royals, for all the stories, feelings and memories you have created for this city in 2014. Not only that, but how you have invited us into those stories as well.
I have always been proud to be a Kansas Citian. I love this city. It’s been my home my entire life, and wherever I go visit, I always land back here with a smile on my face. Kansas City is home, and I’m thankful that this postseason coverage has made my home look as awesome as it truly is to the rest of the world.
This team has created pathways of conversation all over KC, and these postseason games have allowed me to reconnect with some of the people I love most in this world. I’ve been reminded of who I love and why I love them and I’ve met new friends along the way. I’ve hugged and high fives more people in this month than in any other month in my life.
I’ll write more about this team’s future and perhaps a “year in review” piece later, but for now, I just want you to know that in 2014, for the first time in my life as a sports fan, I had my heart truly broken. Sure, I’ve had moments of let down and frustration in the past, but this was something bigger and deeper and intimate between a team and it’s fans.
It hurts to come this close and not win it all. We came up against a historic postseason performance at the wrong time. Bumgarner was too good to overcome. But that just means have unfinished business to tend to in 2015, and I’m confident we’ll be back in the mix for many years to come. Because baseball is back in Kansas City. It’s going to be a long winter without you, boys.
It turns out Bart Giamatti was right: baseball really does break your heart.
And I, for one, wouldn’t want it any other way.
…okay that’s a lie, I’d rather have been World Series champs, but you get it.