It's Tribe Time, Still

I've said it before, but I'll say it again - this year really felt like it was going to be the year. After years of being at school during playoff season, I was finally at home watching the games with the person who led me to be a fan in the first place, my mom. From the beginning of the season, I watched this close-knit team work their way through a series of obstacles and triumph. Last night, I couldn't watch them as they failed to clear the last hurdle in front of them. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross felt the stages of grief did not just apply to death, but to the loss of a job, a home, a marriage. In Cleveland, they apply to baseball.

You have your denial, the hope that maybe a play will be overturned, maybe some secret drug ring exposed that will allow us our trip to the World Series. My friend Megan wanted to know if the entire Boston team were to disappear before Wednesday, would the Indians be allowed in their place? She claims this question is hypothetical, but I feel like I should stop talking about it before we all become accessories to kidnapping. Then there's anger - fuming, pouting, kicking. Everything you were taught to give up as a toddler is immediately accepted again when baseball's on the line. We yell at the ump, the opposing team, and at times our own players. In my case, I have extreme swearing. I was told that I swear more during a baseball game than I do in months, and in all honesty, I would probably swear even more if I wasn't watching the game with my parents.

My mother and I have been bargaining the entire postseason. I offered rather insane things to the Indians, ranging from bringing Travis Hafner a slice of Danny Boy's pizza (my mom and I once saw him walking out of that particular establishment) to naming a kitten after Ryan Garko. We figure that if we wear our lucky shirt, our lucky underwear, play the right songs, perform the correct actions, we'll magically make them win. As for depression, well, even the weather in Cleveland seems to understand our gloom. As it pours outside, we're numb and quiet for the first time in weeks.

And here's #5, Acceptance: The Cleveland Indians are a wonderful team, and you will not convince me otherwise. They are a group of excellent players who granted, may have faltered as of late, but still have amazing talent. What makes this so hard is that they also seem to be generally good guys. They are a team that works together, has fun, never seems to complain or shift the blame on each other, the opposite team, the manager or the bugs. They know their faults and weaknesses, and they strive to make themselves better. I sense that they're not just in this for the money, but because they truly love the game. And they play a clean game - Did you see Indians players slamming cowbells and other percussion instruments in the bullpen to distract the outfield? Did an Indians pitcher yell at a runner because he mistook a strike for ball four? Did an Indians player throw his arms up in a victory stance when he hit a solo homerun in the opposing park? No, they played the game with class. And for that, I say Go Rockies. But my cheering for a non-Cleveland team is only temporary. These men gave us a good season and went farther than anyone seemed to expect. It's only four months until spring training, and I can't wait for the next ride. Enjoy the break Tribe, and rest confident in the fact that you took us on an amazing journey. See you in the spring, boys.

July 3rd

I wake up at 5:47 a.m., get dressed, throw some make-up on and toss my hair into a ponytail. I make a bagel, grab my water bottle and get into my car for the half hour drive to the hospital. I work a 10 hour shift, yet only see three patients. One is returning to the ER for a headache - just five days ago I was on shift when he was diagnosed with and sent to surgery for his appendicitis. Another is a young male who has been vomiting for hours. The third patient is the saddest, a twenty year old who has had a miscarriage. I end the work day feeling a mix of boredom, pent up energy and sadness.

I have dinner, and sometime after that Tim calls. We head to Caribou, and despite it being summer, I order hot chocolate. While we're waiting for our drinks to be ready, I read my horoscope: "Much centers around you. Fortunately, carrying responsibilities might be natural; however, you, like many, enjoy your time off. Tonight: Say 'yes'".

We watch the Indians game with my parents and the Tribe beats the Tigers 5-4. We watch Scrubs until Tim asks if we can turn it off. We talk. Tim gets down on one knee.

Tim asks me to marry him.

I say yes.