
I do sometimes wonder if my commentary is fair, being off the reservation, so to speak. It’s been over a decade since I put Northeast Ohio in the rear view mirror, and I’d admit there are certain things about being a Cleveland sports fan that I don’t have to deal with from my desert abode. Perhaps, it’s a wash, the upside of not being able to attend the home games on anything close to a regular basis, which actually isn’t anything close to what I would consider a silver lining. Not having to deal with the atmosphere, in exchange for not getting to be a part of the atmosphere is the same type of “glass half-full” viewpoint as someone raving about the cleanliness of the silverware at a restaurant where they were given food poisoning. While it’s true that I don’t miss the wintry mixes, the potholes, or the summer afternoons of sucking exhaust fumes on the Inner Belt, one thing I sure do miss is Cleveland, Ohio on Friday night.
Left with only the options of missing out altogether or watching on television, living vicariously through the 13,000 that show up, on average, to the ballpark, I choose the latter. Given just two home games, the tenants at the Field that they call Progressive, though most of us still call it Jacobs, have given their Friday night faithful with something to go home happy about on both occasions. This most recent Friday night, Tres De Mayo, was a much more pleasant affair than the freeze-fest a few Fridays ago with the White Sox and Tribe trading zeroes for 2 hours and 18 minutes. This one, the one where they rescued victory from the jaws of a series-opening defeat at the hands of the inept Minnesota Twins, came in the midst of outstanding weather conditions and hey, 13 runs is a more fun than 1.
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