For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved baseball. I would stare down at my well-thumbed baseball cards and imagine staring down the pitcher as thousands cheered. I loved going to games, but more than that I loved playing catch with my old man and all those classic American clichés.
The point is, the MLB playoffs in October are exciting for me. But this year should be even more interesting. Of the four people in my apartment, three are avid baseball fans, each supporters of different title contenders. Now we are all pretty close, but I’d be lying if I said I weren’t worried about what the pressure of postseason baseball will do to our friendship. I will now give my estimate as to how the next six weeks will play out. But first, let’s meet the players, my roommates (whose names I’ve changed to save them from extreme embarrassment).
Johnny: A classic Bostonian, Johnny is loud, lives within 25 miles of his entire extended family and above all else, loves the Boston Red Sox. Like the rest of Sox nation, he has become cocky over the franchise’s recent success — he has reason to be. Led by David Ortiz and a core of young talent, the Red Sox look to make their first playoff run since their 2013 title. For the sake of Boston’s parked cars, I only hope they don’t succeed.
Kevin: Kevin is a transfer from the University of Illinois, came to the east for the education and culture, but his heart remains at the Chicago Cubs’ Wrigley Field. The Cubs have gone an astonishing 108 years without winning a World Series, but their team this year is the most talented in baseball. Can the Cubs finally break their curse, or will they fall into disarray like everything else in Chicago?
Oliver: Oliver, originally from Rhode Island, is the most level-headed in the apartment, and the only one without a strong interest in the playoffs. If any of us are to survive these next few weeks, it could be Oliver.
Me: I was raised in Maryland, just outside Washington, and my first allegiance was to the Baltimore Orioles. However, the Washington Nationals’ arrival in 2005 compromised my relationship with the Orioles. Both teams will be in the playoffs this year, so hopefully I won’t have to choose.
Who will be the last one standing? Will our bond survive this ultimate test? Without further ado, may I present to you a dramatic interpretation of the effects of playoff baseball on four roommates.
Oct. 5: Johnny, Kevin and I all sit in front the TV. “Alright, no matter what happens, we’re putting our friendship first, right?” As we put our hands in, Orioles outfielder Mark Trumbo clubs a home run off Boston ace David Price. Johnny leaps up and punches a hole straight through the drywall. From across the apartment, Oliver shuts his door.
Oct. 9: The Orioles lead the series against the Red Sox, 2-1. When I arrive home, Johnny greets me. “Hey man, I cooked a big dinner, you just missed it. Made some steaks, spaghetti, a caesar salad. It was pretty great, but it’s all gone. Your turn to do dishes, by the way.” So this is how he wants it. Well, two can play this game.
Oct. 11: Johnny is in a bad mood today. It started when his Red Sox were eliminated by the Orioles, and only got worse when he found out someone accidentally shrunk all his clothes in the wash. I told him that it was time for him to get rid of his cargo shorts anyway, but it didn’t seem to help. The Cubs and Nationals advance, and will play each other for a place in the World Series. I have a feeling things are only going to get uglier.
Oct. 23: The deciding game between the Nationals and Cubs. Kevin and I sit in the common room tense and silent. It doesn’t help that it’s midterms week; we’ve each had about six cups of coffee and the slightest thing could set us off. When the Cubs clinch the game I flip over our cheap-Ikea coffee table, which splits in two. I make eye contact with Kevin. “Good game.” Hope is not lost yet. I still believe in the Orioles.
Oct. 25: The Cubs and Orioles meet to see who will be the 2016 champion. Johnny is now rooting for the Cubs to spite me, and heckles me every chance he gets. The Cubs win game 1 and as I lie awake that night, Kris Bryant’s face stares back at me and I can to hear him laugh.
Nov. 1: I’ve been trying to stay away from the apartment, and when I return on the night of the final game I saw exactly why. The place is in shambles, with dishes filling up the kitchen and trash littering the common room. In the middle stands Kevin, furiously stabbing at the rotator cuff of a doll that resembles Orioles third baseman Manny Machado.
The Orioles are down to their last out in the ninth, with the bases loaded, down by one run. Just as the 3-2 pitch is delivered, our TV goes black. Kevin and I both go berserk, tearing down any remaining decorations on the walls before going after each other. Just as I raise my fist, Oliver burst from his room. “ENOUGH!!” he screams. And just like that, Kevin and I awake, as if from a dream.
Nov. 3: Things have cooled down since the final game. We’ve started to put the place back in order and agreed that we all went a little crazy. The Orioles ended up winning, so it looks like the Cubs will have to wait a little longer to get that championship. I’m happy for Baltimore, they’ve had a rough couple of decades. Have you seen “The Wire?” Anyway, our apartment has somehow survived the MLB playoffs. I already can’t wait for next year.
