A toast. A raised glass, solemn word, and heartfelt message.
To an imperfect masterpiece. A team that shouldn’t have won, but did. A team that shouldn’t have lossed, but did. Players who shouldn’t have stepped up, shouldn’t have returned, shouldn’t have recovered, shouldn’t have made the play, or hit the home run.
To a great season. Some amazing wins. Sweeping A&M, Sweeping both the regionals and super-regionals. Some heart-breaking losses. If 6-5 in the bottom of the ninth of an elimination game isn’t heart-breaking than I don’t want toknow what is. To the seniors and juniors who were drafted and are leaving. To the returning players.
To the many hours spent at the field. In the hot, humid, Houston summer. In the freezing cold season openers where even blankets and jackets didn’t take away the chill. The change felt in the air as we switched from those freezing evening games to the sweltering heat of Saturday and Sunday afternoon games. The smell of hotdogs, nahcos, hamburgers. The sweet relief of an ice-cold soda or a snow-cone. Escaping down the third-base line for a beer. In the beer tent, even team rivalries were set aside so that fellow fans could enjoy a beer…regardless of who they wanted to see win. From batting and fielding practice to the final balls signed at the end of games.
To the fans of the game. Those hardcore fans who froze in the beginning and burned in the end. To those fans who remembered their tickets only at the end of the season. Those fans who banded together to drown out Longhorn fans in the final game of the regionals. Those fans who gave a standing ovation to pitchers pulled for getting the team in trouble. Those fans who cheered for a senior who struggled all year and then brought it big when it counted the most. Those fans who brought their children, those fans who loved the children that weren’t theirs. The friendships made, forged under the duress of cheering for a team prone to exciting wins. The opponents and their fans, who can make the experience by giving up an extra ticket, just so that it will be used.
To the great sport of baseball. The all-American sport. The student-athletes. The fans, old and young. The food, good or bad, always expensive. The stadium wide cheers. “Those people” who shout all the time but endear themselves to those around them.
Baseball is the American experience. It is the blood, sweat, and tears that make the dream. People of all ages, races, cultures, religions, and political persuasions unite over rooting for one team and against another. It is the pot that melts the differences away and unites the fans. Skin color fades away as it is covered by team logos and colors. Language barriers fall as fans scream out the names of their favorite players. In baseball we become bi-partisan Americans…at least as long as we’re all rooting for the same team.
It’s been a great year Rice. Beyond the amazing statistics. Beyond beating the odds. This year, this experience, has forged the fans and teams into a sub-culture that breaks down the barriers around it. So here’s to you Rice Baseball ’08. Next year in Omaha.
~The Countess~
