The other writer is Phillip Barnett. Phillip Barnett found my website, I assume through Myspace, and asked to be apart of Talkhoops.net. He submitted an article about the dying nature of the NBA and how it was in danger of almost becoming obsolete as a national past time. It was one of the most impressive things that I had read since I became more aware of what is and isn’t good writing. He’s the most talented young writer that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading and with his talent, he could literally do whatever he wants in this world. He’s the other writer who inspired me to create this blog.
So if you end up enjoying my writings through this avenue, you can certainly give a little bit of the credit to me, but damn near all of the credit to Celia and Phillip.
Of course if you end up hating every word I wrote, blame them and not me.
I was trying to decide what to write in my first blog for this thing. I wasn’t sure if I should maybe critique one of my favorite movies, talk about how music is shit in the past 10 years or some other sport that isn’t relevant on Talkhoops.net. I decided that I would discuss my passion for baseball. Not only my passion for baseball, but I wanted to discuss my passion for the Atlanta Braves.
My dad (who is also my hero but we’ll save that for another blog) is from the South and spent a good portion of his life growing up in Atlanta, Georgia. It’s why he is obsessed with the Georgia Bulldogs. He’s so obsessed that he seems to know the recruiting class for the incoming freshman long before the major media conglomerates like ESPN and Yahoo ever start talking about it. It’s so detailed in his knowledge of the program that I often just assume that he knows what he’s talking about and agree with whatever he says. I feel like most people that discuss basketball with me. It’s not that I’m so big expert on basketball, but I’m an expert on all things basketball.
Anyway, since he grew up in Atlanta, he was naturally an Atlanta Braves fan. I’m so jealous of him because he grew up in a time where he was able to watch Hank Aaron forge his assault on not only Babe Ruth’s unbeatable record, but also his assault on the racism and ignorance he faced on a daily basis while doing such a feat. My dad was even at the game, somewhere in the outfield stands when Hank hit #715 against the Dodgers. THAT is a sporting event worth being at and remembering. It makes me feel like the excitement that I enjoyed at the Padres-Giants, extra-innings thriller I saw a couple of Sundays ago was an intra-squad, spring training game.
I don’t bleed the Red and Blue of the Atlanta Braves. I mean, I guess I bleed red and there are blue veins from what I can see in my body but that’s merely a coincidence. I think it’s pretentious and cliché as all hell when people say that they bleed Dodger Blue or Orange and Black of the Giants or Green and White of the Jets. If you’re bleeding green and white, I highly suggest that you get your ass some penicillin and stay away from fucking sorority girls. We all choose what team we want to follow. My dad chose to follow the Braves because he was in Atlanta and I chose to follow them because it was a fun and great way to bond with my dad when I was growing up. I don’t “bleed purple and white” because I grew up in Sacramento and have to root for the Kings. I don’t even like the fucking Kings and can’t stand the fan base, which is one of the least educated sports fan bases in the country.
But I did grow up on the Braves and feel like they are a part of me at this point. I grew up on Mark Lemke and Jeff Blauser being my stop gaps up the middle. I grew up on Lonnie Smith grand slams and Ronnie Gant’s gargantuan homeruns before he changed his name to Ron. I grew up on Damon Berryhill striking out with runners in scoring position and less than 2 outs. I grew up on Damom Berryhill striking out with runners in scoring position and exactly 2 outs. Shit, I can’t remember an at-bat when Damon Berryhill didn’t strike out no matter what the situation was. I grew up on the greatest young pitching staff ever created. I was blessed to follow Tom Glavine, John Smoltz, and Greg Maddux pitching performances. In fact, I followed damn near every start of their Hall of Fame careers. I grew up on them getting an impossibly extended outside corner. I grew up on 14 straight division titles. I grew up on just one World Series win from those 14 straight playoff appearances. I grew up on the Braves being compared to the Buffalo Bills of baseball, which is one of the most forced and uneducated comparisons I’ve ever heard.
My favorite player of all time list goes in this order:
1. David Justice
2. Chipper Jones
3. Greg Maddux
4. John Smoltz
5. Ronnie Belliard
I grew up loving Otis Nixon’s homerun theft of an Andy Van Slyk bomb. I grew up on hating the Pirates, thinking Andy Van Slyk looked like someone who would beat up his own family because he couldn’t hit Steve Avery (and I was 9 at the time), and wishing the Phillies would just go away. I grew up on John Smoltz dueling Jack Morris in Game 7 of the 91 World Series. I grew up on Sid Bream sliding safe into home because Barry Bonds had the arm of a 7-year old girl (before he decided to take steroids and help ruin the integrity of baseball 6 years later). I grew up on being terrified of the Expos in 1994 and then being psyched that they got Marquis Grissom away from them the next year. I grew up on Mark Wohlers getting the final out of the 1995 World Series right after David Justice hit the championship winning homerun in the 6th inning of Game 6. I grew up on the Crime Dog, Fred McGriff and his Tom Emanski trucker hat. I grew up on Kenny Lofton getting traded to Atlanta, disappointing because of an injury filled season and then the Braves getting screwed by umpire Eric Gregg who took the outside corner of the plate and put it at the concessions’ stand for Livan Hernandez.
I grew up on John Rocker being my favorite closer of all-time one year and then finding out he was an ignorant red neck the next year and forcing myself to not root for him. I grew up taking shit from some Mets’ fan in Phoenix while I was on vacation and hating them ever since. I grew up with Chipper Jones single-handedly annihilating the Mets in September of the 1999 season and winning the MVP because of it. I grew up on laughing at Benny Aghbayani when he would face Greg Maddux. I grew up on Andruw Jones being the greatest defensive centerfielder of all time (YES all time) and then pissing away a career because he didn’t want to try.
And now I’m watching the tail end of Tom Glavine’s career, John Smoltz’ underrated career, and Chipper Jones assaulting the .400 batting average mark. I’m watching Jeff Francouer frustrate me everyday because he can’t lay off a slider off the plate and then thrill me with the best outfield arm in baseball. I’m watching Yunel Escobar and trying to figure out if there’s legitimacy to his potential or if he’s going to be another unfulfilled prospect. I’m trying to appreciate Tim Hudson without seeing the gaping holes in his pitching performances because I’ve watched 3 Hall of Famers for the past 17 years. I’m watching Mark Teixeira hammer balls out of the yard and wondering if he’ll do it in this uniform next year and if so, for how much.
But I’m a Braves fan. Unless you’re a Yankees, Marlins, Diamondbacks, Angels, Red Sox, White Sox, or Cardinals fan, you’ve got nothing on my organization. I’ve seen my baseball team win a World Series in my life, which is something almost all of my friends can’t say for their teams. I celebrate the sports record of 14 straight division titles and the only one World Series to go with it.
After all, I’m a Braves fan. I chose to do this.
Hopefully, you enjoyed this blog on some level. There will be more. I will try to make it daily, but I have a pretty full plate.
As always, Support the Habit.
- Z
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