A Personal Tribe What If ...

For the past two years my hometown Cleveland Indians have run a series of ads called "What If ... " highlighting some of their greatest moments (yes, there have been some of those). The ads are quite effective, though I feel a bit sad that in the absence of established stars to market and a legitimate contender to hype, all the enthusiasm is rather nostalgic. But still, the overall theme--what if none of this happened?--gets me thinking each time I see or hear one of the ads how grateful I am to have had a home team to root for so passionately for more than forty years now. Considering the lean times in the 70s and 80s, when the team's possible move away from Cleveland was more than just a rumor, there's still cause to celebrate the team's continued existence, despite some rather mediocre baseball being played of late. And so, as a tip of the hat to the ads, to the season's start, and a successful (7-2) road trip, here's my own personal what if litany--both good and bad--for my 40+ years as a devoted Tribe fan. The basic answer is, my life would have been a whole lot emptier.

What if Pat O'Neill had sold the team right away to an out-of-town owner ... if all the people who said they were at Beer Night had really been there ... if Frank Robinson hadn't been so kind to me while giving me his autograph ... if Albert Belle had answered my letter ... if the bleachers weren't so cheap in the 80s ... and if the cop with the funny sunglasses there had had better eyesight ... if Len Barker's perfect game had been on a night when I wasn't out of town ... if they hadn't traded Craig Nettles, Chris Chambliss, Buddy Bell, Carlos Baerga, Cliff Lee, C.C. Sabathia, Dennis Eckersly, Brandon Phillips, and all the rest ... if John Lowenstein hadn't taught me the meaning of the word apathy ... if mom hadn't been a good sport Grandstand Manager ... if my father could have used his 1954 Game Five World Series ticket ... if Omar and Robbie hadn't played together ... if Joe and Lainie hadn't taken me to Game One vs. the Red Sox in '95 ... if I had never heard the names Ossie Blanco, Bo Diaz, Duke Sims, Gomer Hodge, Horace Speed, Jack Brohammer, Joe Lis, Von Hayes, Angel Hermoso, Ted Uehlander, Kevin Wickander, Alvaro Espinozo, and all the others I'm not sure how to spell ... if I hadn't given that guy a bloody nose in securing my one and only caught foul ball ... if I hadn't seen that comeback vs. the Tigers in '86 ... if I couldn't have kept up with the sorry '87 season via USA Today's British version ... if George Steinbrenner had bought the team in the early 70s ... if Cuyahoga County citizens didn't drink and smoke enough to build a beautiful ballpark ... if Jose Mesa hadn't had that look in his eyes in Game Seven in '97 ... if Charlie Nagy wasn't such a gamer ... if Doug Jones and Tom Candelaria weren't so cool ... if Ray Fosse hadn't blocked the plate in a meaningless All-Star Game ... if Ted Cox, Luis Medina, John Bohnet, Roy Foster, Matt LaPorta and all the others had been as good as once hyped ... if Manny Ramirez hadn't been so fun to watch playing an ADD/HD RF ... if Manny Acta didn't always say, "Dis guy," and "ballGAME" ... if Doug Clarke and Terry Pluto didn't write about the Indians ... if Herb Score hadn't told me a million times, "throw to first, back safely," and Joe Tait hadn't told me "It's a beautiful night for baseball," and Tom Hamilton doesn't tell me 81 times a year we're at "the corner of Carnegie and Ontario" ... if Mudcat hadn't taught me about "chin music" ... if those bugs hadn't bothered Joba so much and calmed Fausto ... if I hadn't sat in the dugout with Megan ... if Connor hadn't gotten locked in a stall in the men's room ... if I hadn't almost gotten into a fight in the bleachers one night defending Albert Belle ... if I hadn't found the remains of League Park and told a kid there that Babe Ruth used to play there and the kid asked who was he ... if I hadn't snuck down from the cheap seats into the expensive ones with a baseball mad priest ... if I hadn't sat down the third base line talking with ballboy/student Mark Haas ... if I didn't own the 45 RPM "Go Joe Charboneau"