Tip of the Cap

After the Dodgers weekend, I heard lots of EEI commentary about Manny. From the people who cheered. The people who booed. The people who believed Manny should have tipped his cap.

I, of course, cheered. I cheered every one of Manny's at-bats. And the guy broke my heart. Really. I look back over my time with him and it comes flooding back - the torment. Forget the things that made other people mad. Not running out the ball. His silly outfield antics. I learned to embrace those things. What broke my heart was that Manny never came through.

At the end of the day, no matter how much we loved him, no matter how many times I cheered him (even wrote, and won a prize for a short story about him), he couldn't commit. I was willing to tolerate all the ups and downs. I was willing to accept Manny being Manny. But he didn't know how to pull the trigger on forever.

And as it turned out, forever with Manny wouldn't have been so great. His reputation tarnished not only by laziness, but by steroid use, and the deceitfulness that comes with that - would we really want Manny retiring in our uniform?

Every once in a while, I wonder what would happen if I were to bump into the Manny from my past. He was truly mistifying, pledging his love for me until (and past) the bitter end, without ever coming through when it came to anything real. Yet now, from the security and goodness of what I have, my anger has all fallen away. I don't understand that non-understandable Manny. But being whalloped (in the best way) by a few seasons of real love has released me from caring.

That's why if I were to see him at, say, a reunion, I wouldn't boo him. I could be cordial. Removed from all the nitty gritty and highs and lows, cushioned by something both exciting and certain, I'd like to think I could genuinely smile for the good times - if not for him, for the nostalgia of who I was then, what he taught me, and how it all brought me to where I am now.

I cheered Manny on Sunday because he's gone now. Because I'm no longer in the eye of the storm. I'm safely over him. I can recognize graciously what he did for us. Those fans who booed look small and still-hurting. But I'm not that bitter wounded bird. That seems like forever ago. I'm flying.

I do think Manny should have tipped his cap (though he's never been well-versed in the social graces). It would be nice for him to stand up in front of the cheering and take in the booing. To recognize that he did, in fact, do some damage to our collective psyche. To let us know that it wasn't us, that we were good fans. To, in some small way, apologize or at least acknowledge. To toast the town where he spent some formative years, even if we were never meant to be his home.