For the second week in a row, your regularly scheduled evergreen-style Baseball is Life has been bumped by breaking news. Last week was The Game That Would Not End. This week: Ã‚Â Rally Bird.
The Reds were minding their usual business on Sunday afternoon, losing steadily to the Rockies, when a mourning dove arrived in the Fox Sports Ohio broadcast booth. It alighted on broadcaster’s Thom Brennaman’s chair. And then it became A Thing.
Watch as the saga unfolds.
Broadcaster Jeff Brantley was vital in providing an initial eyewitness account:
Bird n the booth!! pic.twitter.com/vqquPunaiH
— Jeff Brantley (@RedsCowboy) May 21, 2017
Cowboy then spotted the dove’s mate on a nearby cable, and decided they were experiencing marital problems:
— FOX Sports Ohio (@FOXSportsOH) May 21, 2017
This led to Thom confirming the story in a full-blown interview:
— FOX Sports Ohio (@FOXSportsOH) May 21, 2017
Fans watching at home kept all of social media apace of the developing story, which–I feel it’s necessary to emphasize this–consisted entirely of a bird sitting on a chair.
— City Moose (@fenwaymoose) May 21, 2017
At this point, the game had been well-regulated to secondary status as all of Southwestern Ohio puzzled over why Jim Day seemed to think that a talking mourning dove would sound like a parrot.
Then, as a Votto two-run homer sailed out of the park, Fox’sÃ‚Â SABER peopleÃ‚Â ran the stats and posited that the Reds might, in fact, have been visited by aÃ‚Â rally bird.
The natives began offering sacrifices.
— RedsGameIn10 (@RedsGameIn10) May 21, 2017
The Reds ground crew had a request:
Next time you have that bird on, could you ask him to tell his friends to stop eating our grass seed?? #RallyBird
— RedsGroundsCrew (@RedsGroundsCrew) May 21, 2017
Crowd knowledge began to flourish on the potential origin of Rally Bird:
— Amy (@amyeditress) May 21, 2017
Redleg Nation‘s minor league expert, Doug Gray, seeing the creation of a Rally Bird account, wondered if the social media multiverse had at last attained Peak Twitter.
This may be peak Twitter. pic.twitter.com/7igbUmhBkg
— Doug Gray (@dougdirt24) May 21, 2017
This was notÃ‚Â attained until several minutes later, however, when a second Rally Bird account appeared.
Coo coo coo
— Reds Rally Dove (@RedsRallyDove) May 21, 2017
But we need to be careful here because the Rally Bird hashtag has apparently been used in the past by a team…not the Reds.
— FOTUS (@JFeRg52) April 9, 2017
I dedicate several hundred words to Rally Bird because the incident showcases a network in search of a motivated fan base, a fan base in search of something to cheer about, and a hashtag in search of a meme. The fact that the magnificent two-run bang by the magnificent Votto was overshadowed by a piece of poultry is a topic for another day (as soon as this news avalanche slows, I’ll get to that, but for the moment: Rally Bird.)
We don’t watch sports on our own anymore. The desperately bleeding ESPN has not yet figured this out: We simply don’t need you anymore, Worldwide Leader. You are permitted to feed us images of the sporting events we wish to see, but otherwise, be so kind as to shut up. We can get the score–pitch by pitch– anytime, anywhere, from pretty much anything that will plug in, and social media delivers faster, more local, and better snark than SportsCenter ever could (I actually had to step away for a moment and Google to ensure SC is, in fact, still on the air.) Even sitting alone on the couch, or perched in an airport bar miles from family and squad, we are in no way alone. The second he flew into that booth, Rally Bird became the property of the entire sports planet.
There were several plotlines in this game, all of which we were simultaneously experiencing together and alone:
–Bronson Arroyo’s disastrous start, which this time wasn’t mitigated by double-digitÃ‚Â support from the offense, and manager Bryan Price’s refusal to state whether the 40-year-old was at last out of chances. Before Rally Bird appeared, this was the bulk of what Reds fans were discussing online.
-TheÃ‚Â fact that the offense continued to fight anyway.
–Billy Hamilton‘s steal upon steal–22 of them, now.
And what got the hashtag from Fox Sports Ohio as soon as its social media team could scramble one up? #RallyBird. Rally Bird had no scary or indecipherable numbers, no ability to depress turnout, and no sad old men on the mound who probably remember when cigarettes were sold in vending machines. Ã‚Â Rally Bird was cute and fun and might even poop on Thom. So: Rally Bird it was.
Personally, I’m a fan. His appearance embodies why we sink into the immense length and breadth of baseball– anything can happen at any time. But if baseball is reflective of more about human nature than the progress of a game, then an errant mourning dove interrupting the broadcast of one certainly prompts discussion.
Watching a baseball game unfold–truly watching it–is a dedicated process. You might hear the voices of the broadcasters and crowd comfortably in the background as the laundry gets folded, but truly appreciating the long, beautiful braid of the game involves a great deal of sitting and staring. To complete the length of it, all nine innings, is these days a massive accomplishment of sustained attention. So when something instantly shareable flies into the broadcast booth, you tell Jim Day to warm up his very best bird imitation, and understandably so. I mean, here I am 700 words later recounting and analyzing all this.
What’s it like to grow up experiencing sports and the world in generalÃ‚Â in this fashion? Did you know that at the time of the O.J. Simpson white Ford Bronco chase, only 13% of the world’s population owned a cell phone? Ã‚Â I know this because I just watched The People vs. O.J. Simpson, and my first impulse was to announce it:
The void spoke back with shared memories of the trial, opinions of the series, such fun facts as the cell phone stat, and younger readers who had no idea why I was freaked out over a scene between Theo Huxtable and Ross Geller.Ã‚Â Can you imagine this trial happening in 2017? O.J.’s glovesÃ‚Â would have their own Instagram account within seconds. (They probably, retroactively, already do.) No wonder I feel pummeled and exhausted just by scrolling through my ever-expanding list of media feeds and the furor ignited by the flap of a butterfly’s wing.
It’s not that people never used to become outraged; it’s that we’re outraged and overemoted all the time, every time. And what we used to do to step away from that was– I don’t know– watch a ballgame.
But now, we no longer do that. Pitch by pitch, we simultaneously become more drawn together and more forced apart. It’s up to you which way the fabric frays or tightens. For the internet itself, like a knife, is a dispassionate thing. It can save a life. It can take one away.
It can also give us Rally Bird.