My Atlanta Braves are the 2021 World Series Champions!

Photo taken from @braves Twitter

The first World Series I remember was the 1984 Tigers-Padres matchup my dad and I watched. I don’t remember — without looking it up — who won, but I remember watching these games as a seven-year-old. The 1985 Cardinals-Royals “Show-Me Series” was the first Series I really paid attention to, as my love for baseball had grown from interest to full-blown passion. My dad taught me to switch-hit because his baseball hero, Mickey Mantle, was a switch hitter. As this passion bloomed, my love for the Atlanta Braves began.

My grandparents (“Me-Maw” and “Grandaddy”) lived in Jackson, Tennessee, and had something we didn’t have at home — cable TV. Therefore, they had access to Superstation WTBS — Ted Turner’s flamethrower of a TV station that was nation-wide. Programs began at odd times like 7:05 p.m. Every summer, I’d spend a week with Me-Maw and Grandaddy and, after supper, Grandaddy would watch Crossfire on CNN, yell at the TV, and then we’d turn it over to the Braves game on TBS and Me-Maw would re-enter the room to spend the evening with Skip Caray and Pete Van Wieren, and the putrid Atlanta Braves (and, during rain delays, Andy Griffith). In later years, I timed my visits around the All-Star Game, so there weren’t as many Braves games, but baseball still played a large role.

Dale Murphy was my guy. Tall, lanky, clean-cut, with a bat wiggle prior to his swing. He was a bright spot in a dark era for the Braves, winning MVP awards in 1982 and 83 and hitting 398 home runs over the course of his career. My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Ronda Michael once use The Murph as an example I should follow when I was struggling in class and wanted to give up. Murphy had badly cut his hand the night before catching a fly ball in the old Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, received nine stitches, and came back the next night (it was Thursday, May 1, 1986, records indicate) and hit a pinch-hit homer in a 8-1 loss to the soon-to-be World Series champions New York Mets. Mrs. Michael urged me to consider the courage of Murphy as an example to follow. I don’t remember what happened in class that day, but I do remember that portion of the day pretty vividly.

When I entered a new school in fourth grade, I proudly wore my royal blue Atlanta hat on the playground only to be informed that the other kids were Cardinals fans (St. Louis was technically closer to my West Tennessee hometown than Atlanta). I would add the Cardinals (peer pressure, probably), Red Sox (should have beaten those Mets in ’86), Texas Rangers (my first game in person was Rangers-Indians in Arlington, Texas, as I was visiting my Aunt Jean and Uncle Robert … not only did I watch that game in person but we watched the Rangers just about every night during that visit and I attended my first baseball card show with my cousin, Paul), and Oakland A’s (I was a shameless bandwagon kid because of the Canseco-McGwire Bash Brothers) to my fandom roster over the next few years, but never forgot my first love — ugly as those Braves were.

In high school, the Braves began a turn around that led to 14 straight division titles and one World Series win. I made a homemade tomahawk out of cardboard and a pencil in 1991 after “Sid slid” and beat my brother’s favorite team, the Pittsburgh Pirates. I had attended my first Braves game in person earlier that season at Fulton County Stadium while visiting my Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Buddy for my cousin Renee’s graduation (side note: that same weekend my future wife was graduating from high school a few miles down the road). I was delivering pizza in Franklin, Tenn., and listening to the AM radio broadcast when they won the Series in Game 6 in 1995.

In 1998, I went on my first date with my wife, Shannon. Among the first date questions were “do you like sports?” She said only baseball, really. Then, “who’s your team?” She was FROM Atlanta, so, naturally, she had the correct response for our relationship to continue. Her grandfather and I bonded pretty quickly over the Braves and one of my favorite in-person game memories is him driving us down the side streets from Decatur, Ga., to downtown and Turner Field. Since Shannon’s family lived in the greater Atlanta area, we attended at least one game in person most summers (there were a few “we barely had money to get here” years where we didn’t go or the team wasn’t in town). However, the years since the mid-90s were mostly a perpetual disappointment. The team would win the division only to falter early in the playoffs. I came to expect a half-way decent regular season but learned to live with a faltering postseason.

Starting four or five years ago, we caught a game in person every summer. I also got to see Ronald Acuña, Jr.’s first MLB home run at a day game in Cincinnati as a part of a staff outing we had at work. My guys were starting to form a cohesive unit and began picking up steam and raising hopes for the future

Then, the pandemic-shortened 2020 season proved a big surprise as the Braves made the NLCS and took a 3-1 lead over the Dodgers — only to end our fall break vacation with another disappointment.

This year, hopes were high, but the game we attended in person against the Nationals in early June was comparable to how the first half of the season would go. Middling play, Freddie Freeman struggling badly at the plate, then Acuña’s devastating injury right before the All-Star break all combined to begin to dash hopes for a return to the NLCS, much less the World Series.

But, this year was different. An amazing job by General Manager Alex Anthopoulos at the trade deadline provided the spark the team needed to break that “we can’t get above .500” mire.

If you aren’t a baseball fan, I’ll spare you the ins and outs and details, but, let’s just say a trip to the World Series shouldn’t have happened this season. Much less taking home the trophy in six games.

But, here we are. My team are World Series champions. I haven’t had to endure what fans of organizations like the Cubs, Indians, or Red Sox have had to endure, but I also haven’t usually had a reason to be happy at the conclusion of the season.

When Dansby double-clutched and then threw the ball to Freddie at first base to wrap up Game Six on Tuesday night, my wife and I shouted, hugged, and celebrated. I may have also run outside, down the driveway, and into the street of my dead-quiet neighborhood to let out a “woo!”

Baseball is just a game and there are, obviously, more important things in life. However, it’s one of those things that helps bind us together as a people, helps us remember — despite our differences — our commonalities, helps us forget the pressing nature of our daily lives, and gives us something to enjoy. It’s also one of the reason I despise the attempt to politicize the 2021 Braves. Honestly, they can be the Atlanta Pink Unicorns. I would still root for them. Baseball is part of life and, naturally, politics pushes itself in to where it is not welcome. I’m a grown-up and I can understand that, but the narrative around “The Chop,” the nickname, the All-Star Game and voting rights, and the graceless attempt to capitalize on these things by graceless people all are background noise to the beauty of the game of baseball. I am willing to think about those things on another day, but not right now.

I believe baseball is among God’s (many) common graces for mankind. It is a gift I willingly receive and enjoy. The elation we experience on Tuesday was a gift.

I love baseball. I love my Atlanta Braves. 2021 World Series Champions!