Last night, when the final out was recorded and the Washington Nationals were officially in the World Series, I have to admit it did not at first feel real.
It was sort of like when the Washington Capitals finally won the Stanley Cup. You knew in both situations the two teams were going to eventually win since they had such overwhelming leads. The only question was would it be that particular night, or postponed until the next game.
When it finally happened, it was more relief than celebration.
It wasn’t until after watching all the dancing, champagne-dousing and hearing all the interviews that it finally sunk in: This team will be playing in a World Series here in DC. God-willing, I will be at one of the games and see it in person with my wife.
I suppose it’s like anything you look forward to for a long time, you come close, but you never actually get over the hump. Following DC sports in and of itself is a frustrating venture; the Caps and Nats have always been like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football, only to have Lucy pull it away at the last second year after year after year.
Last night, she didn’t. She apparently fell asleep like she did in Game 5 between the Caps and Las Vegas last year. It made me a little emotional, not because a favorite team finally won (OK, maybe a little of it was because the Nats finally won), but because it had me reminiscing about all the people I’ve met and known over the years who wanted to see this so badly, and are no longer here to witness it.
Baseball fans are an interesting lot. I’m a Washington Sports fan and will pull for any team in any sport that has “Washington” on its jersey. If I have a preference, it’s football, but overall, I just want to see the local team do well.
My lifelong buddy Tim, conversely, is a seamhead, and typical of a serious baseball fan. They live for baseball and will even watch batting practice on television just to see someone apply a bat to a ball. He’s not unique either, as since the team came here in 2005, I’ve sat with dozens of people in the stands at either RFK or Nats Park who intensely love the game, appreciate its history, and in many cases shared that love with their fathers, who handed down that passion in the first place.