Novelist Mary Doria Russell has lived in Cleveland for over 30 years and became an Indians fan (and a baseball fan) in the mid-1990s. Describing her fandom:
“To understand how and why I fell in love with the Indians, you have to start with the Jake. Remember the years it took to cobble together the real estate the new ballpark would sit on? Remember the dark, self-loathing jokes? (“So, is it going to be underground? Because that’s where the Indians play – in the basement.”) Now remember what it was like to walk up to the stadium in the spring of 1994…
My son Dan was finishing second grade, and his elementary school got a block of discounted tickets. We are not a sports-oriented family, but we decided it might be fun to go see Jacobs Field after all the publicity. Must have been a 4 PM game because it was still daylight when we drove to the city. Found a free parking spot on Carnegie. Bought peanuts cheap on the corner of East 9th. Gave a buck to the panhandler because it might be good karma. All of those things would become our personal baseball traditions – which is to say the superstitions we observe, to this day.
All around us: smiling families converging on the stadium. Laughing, quiet, purposeful. For some reason, it struck me that this was the modern equivalent of medieval peasants headed for market day at a cathedral, and then we turned down Larry Doby Way and entered that graceful, lacy, white and green structure and my jaw actually did drop. It was, unexpectedly, a place of great beauty. The seats themselves were way the hell up in section 511, but that was good, too. Sit in those seats at sunset, and you’ll see the sky above the home run porch turn gold and pink and lavender and amethyst, embraced and framed by the ballpark itself.
By the second inning, we were learning baseball terms of art from the parents of other second-graders. (“Watch – he’s going to pitch around Thome.”) The early innings were disappointing, but the 1994 team would become famous for its come-from-behind theatrics. We were down by 6 and won by 2, and it was glorious.
My husband enjoyed the game, but Danny and I were hooked and the Indians reeled us in with years of exciting play and two trips to the Series. By the time Dan turned 15 and I turned 45, we could recognize each player from his stance at the plate. There aren’t a lot of enthusiasms that a teenage boy and middle-aged woman can share on a completely equal basis, but that’s what baseball was for us. We had opinions about bench players and guys in AAA. We discussed trades and mourned injuries. Night after night, we sat and watched the games on TV.
A few years later, Dan’s first date with the woman who’d become his wife was a baseball game, and Jessie was hooked, too. They even thought about having their wedding reception at the Terrace Club. On our own 30th anniversary, I asked my husband what surprised him most about our marriage so far. He said, “You read the sports pages. I never saw that coming.” But even Don likes to go to a few games a year, and we even bought season tickets with a bunch of people from his office a couple of times.
The Indians honeymoon has ended. Like lifelong Clevelanders, we know the taste of ashes. We don’t ask for much. If they play .500 ball, I’m not thrilled but it’s worth taking a chance on tickets.
“That’s it!” I often declare. “I’m giving up on these guys! I’m never going to let them break my heart again.”
But every spring… I can’t help myself.
With other teams, it’s “Wait’ll next year.” With the Indians, it’s “Maybe this time… They could turn it around. This might be a good year.”