chapter 6 part 1

Sidney’s connections landed four tickets to Games 3, 4, and 5 in Oakland, and though Casey wanted to ask Anne to go with him, he asked Marin instead on an impulse and despite hardly knowing her. Sidney would bring the latest blond bimbo along for the ride. Casey loathed the idea of someone who did not care about baseball taking up prime, precious seating in the stadium, but as usual he said nothing. After all, Sidney was the one who got his hands on the tickets.

Drug users often say using is like a religious experience. Casey now understood what they meant, for World Series baseball had become his drug, a high like no other he had experienced. Sleep was difficult, but his increased energy level staved off fatigue. When the day of Game 1 arrived, he jumped out of bed at 6am, dressed, and headed to Vivatma’s café for some coffee and a bit of breakfast. The Cincinnati concrete was littered with suits and Reds ties, caps, red skirts, buttons, pins, and earrings, the spirit of the game captivating the suckers who had to go to work and the lucky few who did not. Cincinnati was the new Boston, at least for a week.

The café was full of the same red dress, fuller than Casey had ever seen it, like everyone had hopped out of bed full of energy and enthusiasm, a morning rarity in the real world. Eons had passed since Cincinnatians had felt something other than boredom about life, about its beauty, its joy, the natural highs that make life worth living and living to its fullest. No doubt this joy would inspire a few to make substantial changes to their quotidian rituals, perhaps pursue a long forgotten dream, write a novel, go back to school, go to rehab, propose marriage. In a world plagued with dull routine, when humans have only four or five hours a day that belong to them, inspiration is a rare commodity, lost to those without circumstance or luck, those who go through life’s motions pretending there is not anything more to it, those who experience adventure and excitement through television and movies, convinced that their own lives could never be more than average and dull. The people in the café seemed to have grasped llife’s promise and possibility. The buzz in the café was a jovial symphony playing for the audience of a loving god, for there was no room for wrath or hatred in the Queen City at this time. Well, there was some room for hatred of the new enemy, the Oakland A’s!

Vivatma and Casey exchanged pleasantries after he took a seat by the window. Vivatma was genuinely glad to see him, as it had been a couple of weeks since he had visited, and he had never stayed to eat breakfast. Vivatma’s enthusiasm was such that he promised to make Casey a special breakfast, and he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Casey free to take in the atmosphere of the café. There were some new decorations adorning the walls, including a framed copy of the Cincinnati Enquirer from a few days ago with the headline “Reds Win the Pennant!” and a photo of A.J. Sullivan with his arms raised into the air after the last catch had been made. Casey, too, had saved that paper, putting it with the 1990 World Series paper, the San Francisco Chronicle cover of Bonds’ number 71 and 72, and Rose’s 4192.

A girl of about ten got up from a table and moved closer to Casey, clapping her hands in an innocent and annoying manner. She wore a bright pink and blue striped shirt with bright blue pants, an outfit no adult with any taste would ever be caught dead in. Still, this was the way children’s clothes were designed – bright colors and patterns and general cheeriness. Adults were confined to drab blacks and grays and browns, and if lucky, a maroon or green sweater on business casual Fridays. Red, the brightest color in the rainbow, was permissible this week, even expected, because a game played by adults had brought some of the childhood cheer back into living.

Next to the newspaper was a framed 8x11 photo of A.J., who had hit 36 “longball home runs” and had achieved diety status in Vivatma’s eyes, though he was a lesser diety than Dunn. Casey had brought along a gift for Vivatma, a ball signed by both A.J. and Adam. He wondered if Vivatma would not put the ball on an alter to worship it.

Conversations throughout the place were punctuated by players’ names, A.J. was most frequently heard. One woman asked another about his marital status, another pondered the size of his package. How is it that no part of a celebrity can escape public scrutiny?

A half a day stood between them all and the start of the game, but they had waited seventeen years for this day – what was another 12 hours? The excitement made those hours feel like years. Casey would have to find something to do to kill some time. He planned on wandering down to the Inn Between around 3pm, but what would he do until then? The freedom he had gained by not having to work afforded him endless possibilities to occupy himself. He would have to get some sort of hobby. If the feelings worked during the World Series as well as they did during the playoffs, he would not have to work for a year, not to mention winnings he could earn next year. That is a lot of free time.

The world was his – he would travel to see it all, experience new things, eat new foods, taste new beers. But it would have to be during theoff season – he did not want to miss his beloved Reds defending their pennant and hopefully their title. Yes, travel was it, he decided. He would leave after the World Series was over, and he knew the place he would go, the place that was in his blood: Ireland.

“For you, specially made,” Vivatma said as he brought out a plate of red food – eggs, potatoes, some stuff he did not recognize.

“Why, thank you, Vivatma, looks great.”

“I made it red for you-know-who…”

“The Reds,” he responded smiling. “I have something for you, too.” Vivatma’s eyes lit up like a child’s. Baseball can do that to a person. Casey pulled the ball from his coat pocket. “Signed by A.J. and Adam.”

Casey had though there was no room for more joy in the café. He was wrong.

“Oh, thank you so much for this beautiful gift! This means more to me than one thousand blessings from the gods! This is my most cherished possession! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“No problem, Vivatma. Thanks for being my baseball buddy.”

“Baseball buddy, yes, I like that. Please, eat your breakfast while it is hot. It is, as they say, on the house.”

There must have been something to Vivatma’s belief in his gods – the food was divine. He finished up and said his goodbyes, promising to come back soon, and left a tip twice what his breakfast would have cost.

He still had not decided how to spend his day, but he found himself gravitating towards the stadium as if someone else was moving his legs. The town was flooded with red, its brilliance enhanced by a perfectly clear sky populated by a resplendent sun. The scattered trees were past their autumn primes but still full enough to be considered beautiful. They, too, wore red.

He circled the stadium, floated around it really, not alone in his anticipation, as the enthusiasm of others had carried them, too, down for an early morning jaunt around the ballpark. Casey decided to cross the river to get a look at his church from the other side. It had been years since he had walked the bridge, and eh had never done it without his father. Memories were inevitable, the blue steel carried them to the forefront of his mind, and even the joy and excitement of the World Series could not keep back the pain associated with the memories. He hurried across the swaying and shaking bridge to the dry, stable land on the other side, staring at the new stadium as if the old one had never stood next to it. It was the same skyline, though.

That skyline was damn photogenic. Too bad he did not have a camera with him. As he walked along the river to the newly developed Newport area, it occurred to him that he had a wallet full of money that he had intended to take to the bank later. Surely there would be an electronics store or a camera store among the new businesses in the area. Voila.

The new camera was top of the line with the highest amount of memory, good for hundreds of photos. The salesguy looked at him like he was an alien when he forked over cash for such an expensive purchase, the second person who had reacted like that. Was plastic so prevalent? No wonder the country was mired in debt. He returned to the banks of the Ohio and sat on a bench to read the camera’s manual, convinced that he had purchased a new hobby, something to occupy his newfound freedom. Click, click, click, click, click…He snapped dozens of photos of the stadium and the Cincinnati skyline. He mapped photos of barges and tugboats. He snapped photos of the Ohio’s aesthetically charming bridges. He snapped and clicked the day away as he traversed the streets of the Queen City, stopping people clad in Reds gear, capturing the images of handmade “Go Reds!” signs in store windows, immortalized the National League Champions banners the city had hung from lampposts. He photographed the smiles and joy of baseball, the cure for his misanthropy. At least while there was still baseball to be played.

Though the lens, he saw things in people he had never noticed. The joy of baseball served as a filter to their souls. He saw vulnerability. He saw desperation. He saw suffering and pain and despair, and he saw baseball was holding them down. These things would return when the thrill of winning had faded into the dull gray sky of a cold Midwestern winter, when the ice and snow that froze the life in people would cover the diamond and the surrounding city streets. The lens became the most intimate relationship he had had since Anne.

At 3pm, another celebration of life began at the Inn Between. The shutter did not close there, either. Liquid joy flowed through the place. Toasts were made to the players, the owner, the General Manager, to life. Ties came off, jerseys went on, caps covered the heads of nearly everyone there. Casey bought a round for everyone who was on the terrace in exchange for the freedom to snap photos without asking. The fading daylight added to the magic, as if God were dimming the lights for the show to begin. When it was time for the gates to open, a buoyant crowd nearly ran to the stadium, even those who had moved like turtles for years. And the, he heard the words that brought tears of joy to his eyes.

“Programs! Get your World Series programs!”

He bought one. He bought one of everything that had World Series on it. Click, click, click! The hungry crowd was about to feast after 17 years of drought. Click, click! There would be no wlaking in after the game began; seemed like most of the crowd was already there, three hours early. Click!

The new enemy finished up batting practice some time later. Seats were alreadyfull an hour before the game was to gein, a half hour before all of the extraneous pre-game junk was to take place. Suddenly, 45,000+ people began to spontaneously chant “Let’s go Reds!” The chant lasted a solid five minutes. It was like a prayer.

Cincinnati native Nick Lachey sang the national anthem, a reward for his loyalty to the city despite his fame. There were corporate types who gave out meaningless awards to other elites, some dancers who had nothing to do with baseball, and the announcement of a contest to win some gas-guzzling, ego-coddling, leviathan of a vehicle. When it was finally time for player announcements, Casey could not even hear what Sidney was saying next to him, such was the thunder. A tear came to Casey’s eye. Could life get any better than what was occurring at that moment?

Adam Dunn is a horrible player in September with a career .211 batting average during the rusty month. As it turned out, however, he was Reggie-like in October. He sent two balls into the seats during Game 1, knocking in six players in his four at bats and outshining both A.J. and Game 1 starter Aaron Harang, leading the Reds to victory and Casey’s wallet to bursting. Fans shut down the streets of the city as they marched in impromptu parades, chanting and screaming into the wee hours of the night. Not a soul complained.

Game 2 was a slugfest, a festival of fireworks and cheers. It did not begin that way, however, as Cicinnati’s rock star pitcher threw six shutout innings before the manager made a bad decision to pull him with a 2-0 lead. Suddenly, the score was 8-8 in the 9^th inning after each side blasted three home runs. Casey’s feelings never went sour, however, and the whole crowd seemed to feel victory, too, for they never grew silent, never grew weary of standing and cheering, which only grew louder when the game winner hit chalk in rightfield. Another victory, another celebration, onto Oakland they would go.

“So, do you know who’s gonna win Game 7 yet?” Sidney asked on the plane.

“Still nothing. I hope that isn’t a bad sign. I kind of like it, though. It sucks knowing we’re going on this trip and the Reds are going to lose two of three games.”

“Just think about dollar signs.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He sighed and laid back to take a nap.