It was just 18 days after my third birthday the last time the Kansas City Royals played in a postseason game. I have no memories of Don Denkinger or Dane Iorg or “No outs to go!”
I’m not alone in this. Over the last week I’ve read countless this-is-how-young-I-was-the-last-time pieces. For anyone my age (nearly 32 … cripes) or younger, all we’ve known of Kansas City baseball is misery. One winning season in 17 years. Four 100-loss seasons in five years. The time Ken Harvey was hit in the back with a cutoff throw and flailed to the ground like he’d just been picked off by a sniper. The year Mark Redman (with an ERA North of 5.00) was our city’s lone representative in the All Star Game. The departures of Johnny Damon and Jermaine Dye and Carlos Beltran.
But tonight, none of that matters. There is one Major League Baseball game happening tonight and it’s being played at Kauffman Stadium.
I’d never be able to count the number of games I listened to on the radio. Meaningless games in the middle of lost seasons. Games where the cicadas in the background nearly drowned out the sound of the dwindling Kauffman crowds as summer pushed its way into another depressing August. Games that were highlighted by Hall of Fame broadcaster Denny Mathews’ dry and blunt sense of humor, his spelling of opposing players’ last names (M-I-E-N-T-K-I-E-W-I-C-Z) and his faithful reading of those Royals on the Radio sponsors who were surely questioning their fiscal investment with the franchise (“The first pitch brought to you by The Parking Spot at KCI … Easy to spot, easy to park, the Parking Spot at KCI”).
But I couldn’t stop pulling for the Royals. Maybe it’s part of me being loyal to a fault. Maybe it’s a baseball thing. Either way, my radio stayed tuned to 860 AM The Kow until Denny would call the final out of the final game of the season and the totals were read for one last time before putting another losing campaign to bed.
I always wondered what it would be like to root for a winning team. What would it feel like to see the Royals finish with a winning record? What would it feel like to have people see my broken-in KC hat and not offer words of condolence? What would it feel like to see my team, dare I dream, in the playoffs?
Tonight, I find out.
I’ll be fortunate enough to be inside Kauffman Stadium when James Shields throws the first pitch of the 2014 MLB postseason. True, I will be sitting next to an Oakland fan, but she’s gorgeous and she agreed to marry me, so I can live with it.
But if I wasn’t at the game, I would be tempted to drive two hours south, to the dirt roads of rural Cherokee County, and sit on the back deck of my parents’ home, which is empty and waiting on a new buyer. I would turn on the radio and turn the dial until I heard Denny’s voice.
And this time, there would be no cicadas.
blog of beauf 