I’m sitting here, trying to think what words to type to the last Rockaholics article (for awhile). Well, it’s been a nice offseason, almost as nice as it could be, and the best one for me, since I did not suffer or show signs of withdraw from Rockahol that bad. So it’s bittersweet, for I know that Baseball Season is starting soon, but almost sad because this is, after all, the last Rockaholics Anonymous session. (For awhile).
Alright, I’ve put it off long enough, so here is my final written observation (for awhile) of the disorders of Rockaholics…
1. noun: One that consumes mass quantities of Rockahol and is therefore addicted to it.
2. noun. The primary language spoken by Rockaholics.
Okay, this month we will be studying the language of Rockaholics. Ever been talking about the Rockies to a non-Rockaholic and they give you this weird look like you’re speaking a totally different language? That’s because you were.
Non-Rockaholics do not understand us because they do not speak our first language. We speak theirs, but only when we have to. They do not understand you if you say, “I Spilly you” or “+1”. RBIs (sometimes pronounced ribees), NLDS, WAR, HRs (homers), ERA (etc, etc,) are foreign words that they have to search their brains for the meaning to, if they’ve even heard of the word. Terms spoken in other situations besides baseball such as pitcher, up the middle, magic number, popup, and not to mention all of the nicknames (Cargo, Cookie, Tulo, Dex) are mistaken for the less important meaning of the words. Trying to engage in a conversation that’s already going between multiple Rockaholics is near impossible.
Ah, stinks to be them.
It works both ways. Since Rockaholic is my main language, I automatically think of the Rockaholic term to each of the above words (cargo, cookie, too low, Dex™). A side effect of being a Rockaholic. I find myself talking about the advantages of a larger outfield when setting up home plate in the backyard, then quickly shutting up because my siblings haven’t the foggiest what I’m speaking to them. I could rattle on about the last game I went to just to speak the beautiful language.
Of course, non-Rockaholics aren’t totally ignorant. Living with or talking to a Rockaholic every day, you pick up a few words of the language. Even asking who’s pitching tomorrow or how many years Helton has left on his contract is an improvement. During the playoffs, everyone wants to be a Rockaholic, and naturally they go to the Rockaholic in their family/school/circle of friends or whatever to temporarily supply them with Rockahol or give them a little tidbit of information so they could at least understand what is goin’ on in this game. Rockaholism bleeds out, so don’t ever stop speaking it!
No baseball fan has to explain his mania to any other baseball fan. They are a fraternity. It is less easy, often it is hopeless, to try to explain it to anyone else. You grow technical, and you do not make sense. You grow sentimental, and you are deemed soft in the head. How, the benighted outsider asks you with no little condescension, can you grow sentimental about a cold-blooded professional sport?
~ John K. Hutchens, author
This quote basically says it all. Rockaholics understand each other, non-Rockaholics don't. In every baseball fan, there is a technical and sentimental side (I'm probably 40-60 respectively), but when they are talking baseball with each other it doesn't matter. Don't ever mess with a Rockaholic conversation: if you are a non-Rockaholic, you will plain misunderstand. If you are a Rockaholic having a nice Rockaholic conversation, and a non-Rockaholic tries to mess it up or change the subject (because of their boredom), just start speaking Rockaholic really fast, and they will be confused and not understand a word you said. "Yeahdidyouseethegamelastnight?TroyTrevorTulowitzkiwentfiveforfiveandhitaHRsonowweareintheleadandaregoingtothepostseasonandCookiewasgreathepitchedacompletegame.
I'mworriedaboutFranciswhocamebackfromsurgerythisyearheneedstoworkonhiscontrol.(yad, yada, yada.)
Yeah, so I love speaking Rockaholic. My family goes crazy when I start spewing out foreign words, but I don't care. Purple Row has helped me a lot this offseason, since I get to vent some in Rockaholic. Never take real baseball conversations for granted, and never stop speaking Rockaholic.
My name is prettyinpurple, and I am, and I speak Rockaholic.
The End (for now).