Playoff season is cheating season. Most of us are minus a significant other in the World Series chase. We are cold, and we are lonely. So we look for a temporary warm body.
As the Reds have kept us in this position for approximately three decades, we’re experienced wanderers by now. Maybe you have a secondary concubine who has already won your favor. Or maybe you hold out to examine this year’s crop as they walk past. Or– and I suspect this is where most of you are– you anti-cheer against the closest possible enemy and let karma take its course.
I have previously established my predilection for the Rockies, as we have built a deep personal connection consisting of me driving past their stadium this one time. Also I feel sorry for them. I’m a pity-cheerer. Never understood bandwagoning the likes of the Yankees or the Red Sox just because their swollen payroll usually results in a definite invitation to the prom. It seems an awfully mercenary way of life.
Nor am I a fashionable person, although the nauseating business of wearing a Chicago Bulls puffy jacket on a Cincinnati playground seems to have calmed down since the 90’s. I wish you joy of your $180 winter jacket that you bought in order to cheer on a team that plays mostly in July, but I shall content myself with my Baby Yoda Skyline tee, thank you very much.
This is much more of a temporary union. It’s extremely transactional. It lasts as long as your significant other does in the playoffs, and you are permitted to swap out any time you please. Note, however, that the sooner you swan into the chat with a winner on your arm, the more rizz you shall appear to have.
Cincinnati seems to have settled on the Rangers as our American League paramour. This is not so much of a wrenching decision, as we only see AL teams maybe once or twice a year and who cares what they’re up to the rest of the time. This year, the Rangers is the trophy wife of choice due to possessing the important virtue of not being the Astros.
The matter of the National League is more complicated; until recently, these were our enemies, even our direct chase-down opponents. Once we run the usual filter of Not the Cardinals and Not the Pirates, both of whom helpfully eliminated themselves this year, we are left with the Phillies and the Diamondbacks. Based on geography alone, I’m Arizona’s girl, but some of you might feel residual brotherhood from Pete Rose’s stint in Pennsylvania. And I get it; if you can’t date the hottie, date the hottie’s brother.
So: Who ya got, and why?