I woke up Thursday morning to a post on my Twitter feed that Manny Ramirez had been suspended for 50 games. Within minutes, I received a text message from my brother. And a couple hours later from Tanaya.
I’m mad. It’s probably strange the reason that I am mad, but here goes. I’m mad because I don’t like things that make baseball not seem pretty. I don’t like rules about baseball. I don’t like contract negotiations. I don’t like “falling in love” with fictitious people and having them break my heart. I don’t like being loyal to something un-real only to have it force me to face its reality.
That’s why I’m mad.
I’m upset with Manny for breaking my illusion. I love baseball because it isn’t real. I love that I can be mad at it and wake up the next morning and be perfectly ok. I love that I can tell stories about these players with the fondness of childhood memories. I do.
This, I don’t like so much.
Yes, I am a little upset that he cheated. I was complaining to my father this afternoon that I hate how these players lie. I told him it boggled my mind that Alex Rodriguez’ excuse would be that he had no idea what he was taking.
“You’d be surprised,” my father replied. “We treat so many people who have no idea what they’re taking or why they’re taking it. So, it’s possible….”
Possible as it may be, it still causes an intersection of real life and fantasy life.