A Sports Column?
By H.G. Miller
A Sports Column?
I finally had the thing happen that lets me know I'm getting old. It wasn't the
creaking knees, or the kidney stones, or even that longing gaze at a brand new
Buick. It was baseball.
For most of my life after adolescence there have been two running dreams inside
my head: girls and writing. Girls are a pretty obvious distraction. Writing is
this thing I'm doing right now with my fingers and the keyboard and my mind and
on and on… I've always dreamt that I might someday get paid to do this. So far,
I've had little luck in this department, but I keep on trying.
But, I had another dream come to me the other day. I dreamed that I somehow got
my hands on an insane amount of money. You know, won the lottery, assassinated
a foreign dignitary, robbed some banks. That sort of swag. Then, I dreamed that
I went out and got the best financial advisor in the world.
Seriously, who dreams about getting a financial advisor? This is where the
“old” part starts to come in,
“What do you want?” He asked me.
“I want to own the Kansas City Royals,” I told him. With a straight face and
everything.
He started laughing, of course. It was a little unprofessional, but this was a
dream and let's be honest, it's the Kansas City Royals.
So, what I want to know is this: When did I stop dreaming about hitting the
home run that drove the dagger through the hearts of Yankee fans in the bottom
of the ninth of the seventh game of the World Series, and start dreaming about
signing the check for the guy who hits the home run that dives the dagger
through the hearts of Yankee fans in the bottom of the ninth of the seventh
game of the World Series?
Forgive me if I repeat myself. Like most good Americans, I really hate the
Yankees.
I do love baseball, though. If I'm ever a little bored and think nobody's
looking, I'll still go into a wind up motion as if I was on the pitcher's
mound. I still bump into my apartment walls like I'm making the big catch in
the outfield. I still sometimes imagine it's me swinging the bat.
But, now I'm thinking about the money.
I was zoning out at work the other day and had one where I held a press
conference to discuss how I was going to use a mix of sabermatics, scouting and
gut-instinct to build a winning franchise. The “Kings of the Midwest” would be
mine. I even imagined the marketing meeting in which I used my extensive
knowledge of advertising to help develop a branding campaign that got the fans
in Kansas City excited about their team.
Why am I daydreaming about doing my
JOB!?!?
While I'm
there!
Maybe some of the blame should go to the current owners and players. All of the
strike talk, the negotiations. You couldn't help but get caught up in the money
of the game. Sometimes, it's hard to forget that you're getting excited by the
actions of men who make more money than you'll ever see to swing a wooden stick
and run around in some dirt.
And the playoffs are starting today, so it's only going to get worse. My Royals
didn't make it, but the Angels did, and I watched them tear out my heart with a
couple of doubles in the bottom of the ninth inning earlier this year, so maybe
they can do it to the Yankees for me.
I'll be thinking about what good seats I could have if I owned the team. How I
would be able to pound my hands on that red, white and blue bunting. How I
would be beloved by the fans for bringing a championship back to the city.
And, I'd be filthy rich. That's not so bad, I guess.