I know many of you out there have either tuned the Rockies out at this point, or you continue to suffer through, game after meaningless game, holding on because the thought of no baseball is worse than bad baseball. Some of you watch the Rockies just to blast them on Twitter anyway (let’s be honest), so losing really just gives you more memes for the fire. And some of you are true diehards, willing to watch Ian Desmond trotted out over and over without a cynical utterance as you scribble neatly on your scorecard.
But I would like to take a step back for a moment and thank the Rockies for the season they’ve had.
At this time last year, they were 86-70. On September 24, they beat the Phillies 10-1 en route to a 4-game sweep that would put them in the driver’s seat for the division. That series saw the Rockies put up an eyepopping 34 runs, holding the Phillies to just 7. But then they lost two out of three to the Nationals, and we found ourselves in a one-game playoff for the division crown, a game that nearly killed me.
I wanted the Rockies to beat the Dodgers more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. I know that sounds like hyperbole, but it isn’t. I would’ve actually traded my wedding day for a Rockies’ win in Dodger Stadium for the division. You can always find someone else to marry; you can’t get contention windows back!
In fact, that entire month just about killed me. I had worn the edge clean off my faux leather couch by mid-September. My doctor became increasingly worried about my blood pressure, which at one point hit 340/275. The only reason I survived was because I didn’t actually move for 30 straight days. I breathed as shallowly as possible and clung to every Rockies’ good luck charm I could fit around me.
What a change a year makes, am I right? This September has been incredibly pleasant! Warm temperatures, blue skies, changing leaves. Gone are all those big, important games where I wonder if my heart can take one more at-bat or if my furniture will live out the night. Now I just lay around mindlessly on the worn couch, my biggest anxiety coming from the thought of going upstairs to go to the bathroom. My relationship with my neighbors has improved dramatically since I haven’t had anything to scream about since May, when the Nuggets’ playoff run ended. It’s been lovely.
Plus, I actually have enough money for groceries right now. I went to three games during September last year, which cost about the equivalent of a mortgage payment if you get an adequate amount of beer and Purple Hulk beer-holding fists. This year? Extra money for PS4 games I’ll play once and an extra bottle or three of whiskey.
I mean, sure, it’s been a little tough waking up with no reason to live. And I suppose that the thought of the long offseason, a baseball-less blackhole of despair has kept me up at night a few times. This week. And sure, there’s the excruciating pain of watching the Dodgers – Satan’s team – roll out nobody after nobody to hit 480-feet walk-off homeruns. I guess that’s been a little tough.
But it could be so much worse. We could be in the middle of a stressful playoff race spending all our money just to be disappointed in the first round again. Right?