It's the end of baseball season and since I'm a Californian now, I root for the LA Dodgers, and woo hoo!! They were victorious last night over the NY Yankees in a four game World Series!
It makes me think back to this time of year in my hometown of Kansas City when the Royals had a team roster of phenoms like third-baseman George Brett. My ex and I had season tickets to the Royals in the 1980s--and witnessed their zenith in '85 when they were World Series champs the first time around. I'll never forget the deafening roar of that crowd, the sky ablaze with fireworks, people around me sobbing and hugging as we jumped up and down like we'd won the lottery on that crisp, exhilarating October night.
But for years after that, I sat through endless August games, dreading the enveloping humidity, my thighs stuck to a sweaty stadium seat. A cold beer was my only consolation for the Royals' inability to string together a winning anything. And I don't even like beer.
Fast forward to 2014 when the Royals made it to the series, but lost in a 7th game heartbreaker. That gave these underdogs--and those of us who love 'em--all the more to hope and wish for the following year. And when the boys in blue delivered a World Series victory, Kansas City went crazy: A half million people crowded like ants along the Royal Blue parade route as schools and businesses closed and the city's streets were gridlocked.
Most of us have felt like underdogs in our lives at some point. The first year after I left my marriage, I felt like I'd been kicked to the curb with steel-toed boots.
But that's the thing about plummeting lower than low--there's only way way to go from there, and that's up. A dear friend who's a grief counselor likes to frame it like this: Think of all the times you've failed, been depressed or sad about something in your life. What happened? Things got better, the world kept spinning, and your resilience pulled you right back out of that hole you found yourself in.
It's a bit like dating in a digital world. You match, you do a meet cute and it's either a-okay, let's go out again, or it's nope, one more disappointment for the books. I've had a few good matches but far more of the, "This won't even make it to first base" variety.
My good friend Jack likes to say to me after each of my hits and misses, "You get back on that horse better than anyone I know!"
In my know-it-all younger years, I used to say I didn't care for underdogs. I equated the term with "victim," someone who's thrown in the towel and stayed there.
But I see the difference now as I've gotten older: An underdog has a hungry look in her eyes and knows life is a cycle of ups and downs, bunts and homers, wins and losses.
Most of all? She knows you'll never get to second base with your foot planted on first.
Giddyup!