Competition. It is at the root of almost everything that we do. To compete means to battle, to work hard, and potentially to struggle. So why do we like it so much? Why do we as human beings seek out competition and weave it into the many threads that construct the meaning of our lives? I think it’s because that battle, that struggle to succeed, is what defines us. You can only measure the quality of your success by the magnitude of what sacrifices it took to get there.
We are emotional beings, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Some people may have thicker skin than others, but that just means their struggle is that much more personal to them and they protect that truth with walls of sternness. What no individual can hide from is the fact that competition exists all around us – on a practical scale, we compete against each other as individuals, we like to place friendly wagers when we disagree so that we can be rewarded for “being right,” we compete against tough material in the classroom, or the impossible economy in the workplace. Then on an intangible scale we compete against standards, the status quo, doubt, adversity, and what is usually referred to as the impossible.
We sometimes forget that all these arenas of competition exist, because we want to pretend that we are passive beings whose lives are not defined by competition. Well nobody is fooling me. And so while this article is about sports, I wanted to lead in with a reminder that even if you’re not a sports fan, you are still a competitor, which should give you an adequate frame of reference for what I have to say…
It was unreal on Wednesday, sitting in seat 22. It all ended right where it started. And this 24-year old author was taken back to the spring of 1994. It was the tail end of my time in 1st grade and I was a scrawny little kid with a lisp that could rival nails on a chalkboard. On a storybook spring morning, 45 minutes north of New York City, my dad was headed out the door for the Pony League coaches meeting. This was a big day because not only did you get the team roster and equipment, but you also got the uniforms.
I had been waiting for this day for a while – my older brother Joe had already played two seasons of little league by now and had jerseys from the Houston Astros and Chicago Cubs to prove it. Now it was my turn to get a jersey…finally.
I sat in my parents’ bathroom and watched my dad shave, which had become part of my routine in getting up early during the week to see him off to work. Then as he brushed his teeth, I asked him to please try to get Mets jerseys, which at the time sounded something like “Daddy, pleaschh try to get the Metschh.” Joe was a Yankee fan, and in the same way that Joe loving Batman and Chip had made me favor Robin and Dale, I wanted the Mets to combat Joe’s Yankees.
My dad said he would try, but that a lot of people were going to try for the Mets. I said that was fine, and just hoped for something to separate me from Joe – so no Yankees, Astros, or Cubs, and I’d be a happy camper. Then, in the moment where my Dad walked out the door, my mother unknowingly changed my life forever when she said, “Frank, if you can’t get the Mets, get that new teal team – they will be easy to see when I pull up to the parking lot so I know what field you guys are playing at.” My dad came home that sunny April Saturday with a black trash bag of teal jerseys, and though it wasn’t what I had asked for, I threw on that #6 Marlins jersey for the first time and it still hasn’t come off.
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| Where it all started... |
The Florida Marlins entered the league a year before I entered the world of baseball, but because it was during the player strike, I like to think that the two of us came into baseball together. Knowing that they were a new team and I was a new player, it stuck. I’ve been a fan of the Marlins for my entire life, and many people have come to reference me as the only Marlins fan that they know. As I grew up through the 90’s, the Marlins became synonymous with my young identity. As a Catholic school attendee, uniforms were a must, but every once in a while we were rewarded with “play-clothes.” Consistent as the sunrise, every time I got a chance to wear play-clothes, I made sure to sport some Marlins gear, to show people that I was proud of being the only Marlins fan they knew and that I could give two craps about the Bronx Bombers.
I could continue on and tell you the whole timeline of my Marlins fanship – but I’ll stick to the highlights. I’ll never forget 1997, coming home from school during the NLDS to catch the afternoon Game 1 between the Marlins and San Francisco Giants. I then remember having to play the Atlanta Braves who were on the early end of their NL East supremacy with a historic pitching rotation. After dispatching of the Braves in 6 games behind Livan Hernandez’s dominance on the mound, it was on to the Cleveland Indians for the big money. I remember the only regret I had in winning the World Series that season was that it wasn’t against the Yanks.
A 5th grader at the time, I went to school the next day, like a kid in a candy store, only to have the Yankees fans take away my celebration, “you’re lucky you didn’t have to play us, we would have crushed you.” Though a completely irrational argument, because the Yankees weren’t even good enough to get out of the first round that year, that was my first exposition to the true mantra of Yankees fans; gloat when we win, excuse when we lose (see the argument: we have 27 rings). It made the sweetness of my first championship (which, by the way, came much earlier than the Yanks’ first franchise title) taste sour.
Fortunately for me, karma seemed to take note that it now owed a debt to me. In 2003, I witnessed what I believe to be the best pair of pennant battles in my lifetime; the Marlins taking on the Cubs and the Boston Red Sox battling the Yanks. After a dramatic seven game series with the Cubbies, the Marlins had won the NL Pennant, making them 2-for-2 in such situations (that’s a better win percentage than the Yanks can boast…for those of you keeping score at home). The next night was Game 7 of the ALCS, and for the first and only time in my life, I rooted for the New York Yankees. When Aaron Boone hit that homerun I was speechless; six years after I heard my first jab about how the Yanks would have dominated the Marlins in the World Series, it was now time for Yankee fans to do something they often failed to do, back up all that trash talk. Too bad they weren’t up to the challenge.
In 2003 the Florida Marlins dominated the New York Yankees behind two wins from Brad Penny, an 11th inning Alex Gonzalez walk-off homerun, and a 5-hit series-clinching shutout behind the arm of World Series MVP Josh Beckett. The next day I had the opportunity to tell Yankee fans something that I had wanted to say from the moment they ruined my first championship, something that most baseball fans long to tell them today – shut up. But I didn’t. I didn’t gloat, I didn’t rub it in, I didn’t want to sink to their level. I had taken junk throughout the whole series without saying anything, especially when we went down 2-1, but on this day, the day after we were crowned champs, my silence was deafening.
I know that people will continue to make fun of the Marlins, their two “fire sales,” their poor attendance, and their predominantly sub-par performance. I’ll tell you what though, I’m glad I didn’t end up with a Mets or Cubs jersey back in ‘94, otherwise I’d still be waiting on my first big win, instead of having celebrated two unforgettable ones.
So there I sat in Section 102, Row 8, Seat 22, on Wednesday, literally taking hundreds of pictures as if it would help me to absorb the moment. I was joined by over 34,000 other spectators who came out to say goodbye to the only sports team I’ve ever loved.
It was unreal to be a part of something like that; to have taken the whole ride with a team and then to be there in person to witness the end of an era. What I did realize is that the Florida Marlins that I knew while growing up had started to fade away a long time ago. Ever since the team was bought by current owner Jeffrey Loria, the team has been changing. Loria, who was literally handed a World Series capable team, assumed ownership in 2002, and then took credit for the Marlins Championship season in 2003. That series-clinching tag by Beckett on Jorge Posada was the end of the real Florida Marlins.
Since then the Marlins have wheeled and dealed, slowly trading away all of their World Series contributors. Whether the media would agree with me or not, as a true fan, I will tell you what it felt like since 2002. It felt like Loria was a very selfish owner. The most basic example is how he slowly transitioned teal out of the team’s color scheme simply because he didn’t like it – I guess 10 years of history doesn’t count for anything. In addition, Loria and his stepson, team president David Samson, have been adamant about taking credit for all of the Marlins successes and none of their failures. They seem to have been more interested with leaving their mark on the team, than with the team leaving their mark on the field. Right or wrong, bitter or unbiased, that’s a fan’s perspective; and I’m sure that I’m not alone.
The truth is that since 2003, the Marlins have been fading away into a team that was “once upon a time,” and this past Wednesday was just the official book-end on an amazing run. I hope that the Miami Marlins, set to enter the world of Major League Baseball on 11/11 of this year, can carry at least a little bit of the Florida Marlins legacy. It’s too soon to tell right now how it will feel – if I will be as diehard about the Miami fish as I was about the Florida ones. I think it will be ok though, because as I sat there in seat 22 this week and looked at this father and son in front of me (both sporting some Marlins gear), I thought that some day I’ll take my little boy to see our Marlins play.
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| Getting my pic with a fellow "life-er" |
This article is my tribute to the Marlins, and all that they have brought to my life. The Marlins taught me how to believe in the impossible, how to be an underdog, and how to never give up. Looking back on the years, I can say that I cheered for them passionately and defended them at every moment. Maybe it’s something I picked up from my New York stomping grounds. Clearly I’m not shy about my distaste for the Yankees, but I cannot deny the bond I have with those diehard fans from the Bronx – we both love our teams.
And that’s the connection. As much as competition can pit us against each other; whether it’s a fellow student in the classroom, a co-worker at the office, a player on the field or another fan in the stands, competition is something that brings us together. If we listen hard enough, competition is a language that we all speak, just in different dialects. But it’s important to appreciate that, to know that people can have the same level of investment in different things. And so while I love to watch the Yankees lose, I will never hesitate to throw their fans a bone, because I know how dedicated they are.
Seat 22. I can officially say that I am the last person to ever sit in that seat in the history of the Florida Marlins. And I will be there on 4/4/12 this spring to be the first person to sit in a seat (number TBD) in the history of the Miami Marlins. Words cannot describe the way that 18 years flashed before my eyes as I sat in that stadium. I remembered the few good seasons, the many bad ones, all the jokes I’ve had directed at me, and all the wishful predictions I’ve made. And then just when I thought the experience had been capped off, they play the top 10 moments in Marlins history up on the stadium big screens. By time they got to number 1, I knew who I would see. I knew I’d see the man whose picture has been above my bed since I was 10 years old.
Surely enough, as goosebumps filled my arms, Edgar Renteria was up on the screen in the bottom of the 11th inning. It was 10/26/97 all over again and I was sitting on the floor of my parents’ bedroom after midnight. And then, as if on cue, Edgar took that Charles Nagy pitch and lined it up the middle of the infield to send Craig Counsell home to a mob of ecstatic Marlins. It was over. We did it. And then I was back in 2011, sitting in Sun Life Stadium for the last time, eyes filled with water. I stood on my chair and applauded with the other 34,000 strong, said thanks so much for the ride, grabbed my game program, picked up my camera, and for the last time said goodbye, to seat 22.
