On Wednesday night at around midnight I sat on the couch alone and cried. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.
I don’t cry very often. Pretty much the only thing besides a death that will make me cry is nostalgia. When I think back on beautiful memories that can never happen again, I lose it. So as I sat and processed the fact that the Texas Rangers, my Texas Rangers, had finally won a World Series, I began to think about all of the games I went to with my parents and my brother.
I remember very few things that happened on the field at these games, but I remember all the sights, smells, sounds, and feelings. We’d drive two hours to the games from my hometown of Tyler, TX. We’d get there for batting practice and chase the home run balls that Juan Gonzalez, Pudge, Palmeiro, and others would hit. We’d wait in a line for an autograph, no matter how unknown the player was. My dad would have a cooler with sandwiches and Powerade. I can still taste that blue Powerade. In the sixth inning we always got a Big Kahuna Ice Cream Sandwich. It would melt in the hot summer nights on our hands and my dad would pour water on a napkin to clean us off.
Usually the game would go too late, the Rangers woeful pitching likely making it take too long, and we’d go to the car before it ended. Then we’d change into our pajamas before we got into the minivan. I’d sit in the middle row and my brother would be in the back. We’d lay down with a pillow and drift asleep as Eric Nadel called the final few innings on the radio. When we got home my parents would try to carry us to bed without waking us, but I always woke up. I didn’t want to disappoint them so I’d stay as still as possible, stiffening up like a board. They wouldn’t acknowledge it and neither would I.
As a parent of two young boys, I now realize what an undertaking going to those games must have been for my parents. And I’m sure they sometimes wondered why they went through all that trouble. I can say now though that it was all worth it because those are my favorite childhood memories.
I could write a book of these types of memories. But I wanted to give the rest of this post to other people who I know felt the same emotions as me on Wednesday night. I asked people what came flooding back to them when that devastating Josh Sborz curveball caught the top of the strike zone and the 52-year wait for a World Series ended.
Usually their memories weren’t about the big games they’d attended. More often it was the mundane, the familiar, the quotidian moments that make up the rhythms of baseball. In a sport filled with downtime it’s the moments that fill those gaps that provide the core memories. And when the spectacular does happen it’s all the more special.
And more than anything, baseball memories are about the people who share those moments with us.
Kaitlyn Jackson
I think of parking what felt like three miles from the Ballpark in Arlington. My dad carrying a cooler of ham sandwiches and Ozarka water bottles, and feeling amazed seeing the enormous stadium facade come into view. I think of waiting in line for hours before game time to make sure we got the Rusty Greer Beanie Babies fan giveaway, along with fellow baseball and Beanie Babies enthusiasts.
I think of going to field level during batting practice with a sharpie in tow hoping to get an autograph or high-five from Mark McLemore, Kenny Rogers, or Pudge Rodriguez; practicing what I would say to them if I’d have the chance.
Once warm-ups were over, I remember climbing to the very top and sitting in the seats partially obscured by the Southwest Airlines billboard in left field, glove ready for the world’s furthest home run ball should it be hit to me, happy as a clam to be sweating and eating ham sandwiches in the Ballpark in Arlington with my dad.
“Happy as a clam to be sweating and eating ham sandwiches in the Ballpark in Arlington with my dad.”
Josh Fortney
I think of eating ice cream out of little Rangers helmets. We rarely got to sit closer than the back few rows, but we always got ice cream in the little helmets. That formed such a core memory for me that my wedding reception was at the Ballpark in Arlington and my “grooms cake” was an ice cream bar with the little helmets.
I also remember how HUGE of a deal it was that the Rangers got to host the first ever Interleague game in 1997. My family is originally from the Bay Area. So my dad got us tickets as the Rangers hosted the San Francisco Giants. I got to see Barry Bonds play in Arlington! So cool for my 10-year-old self to see my first favorite team battle against my true favorite team. My dad made us keep our tickets and pins from that day and I find them every time I “clean” the junk drawer and I still keep them.
Probably the realest moments for me are all the conversations I’ve had with my dad leading up to the season and throughout the season about our predictions based on the Newberg Report and whether Jamey was right or not in Spring Training.
Going from a 10-year-old child soaking in games in person or on the couch with my dad and brothers, then taking my girlfriend who grew up and lived two miles from the ballpark, then marrying that girl down the street, and sharing our first dance in the Diamond Club overlooking the field while the rangers were on a road trip to Boston is just a small testament to how Rangers baseball has been and is now forever ingrained in my life.
Sarah Watts
My family had season tickets so we got to go to enough games that we were familiar with the vendors, fellow fans, and players. We knew that the beer man Dan would come into the season overweight and by the end of the season would lose 30 lbs from lugging those beers up and down stairs in the scorching summer sun. We knew that a young Elvis Andrus would always look for an attractive girl to toss the ball to at the end of an inning. And we watched him grow into a married man and father who would instead look for the kids in the stands to hand out the souvenirs.
And speaking of souvenirs, we have brought home too many giant Rangers cups to count. But the most cherished relic of Rangers games is my dad’s scorebook. He kept score of every game we went to and flipping back through those games is always super fun.
Joe McConnell
One of my earliest childhood memories is going to a Rangers game. We stayed at the hotel next to the Ballpark in Arlington and had nosebleed seats and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I can still hear the Darth Vader theme song playing as Juan Gonzalez stepped up to the plate for the first time.
Most summer nights I’d fall asleep listened to Eric Nadel call the games. I never once thought the Rangers would come close to a World Series title. So when they won the AL Pennant in 2010 and showed that it was possible, I was so pumped for 2011. For Game 6 that year I still remember sitting in my dorm room at Ohio State holding my Texas flag, ready to run down the halls to celebrate. And I remember the feeling of sitting in that room after we lost.
But more than anything I think about the people I watched the games with. I think about my parents taking me to those brutally hot games in the summer. And I think about Chris, Nathan, Aaron, and Sam, who will forever be the best crew to watch a game with. Baseball is just a game, of course. But it’s a game that strengthens family bonds and forms friendships that last longer than any game.
Estevan Molinar
I was a water vendor at the Ballpark in Arlington in high school. So many nights I’d cash out in the 7th inning, buy a Dr. Pepper and a hot dog, and find an empty seat to watch the rest of the game. The score didn’t matter. Many of those years the games were essentially meaningless. But I’d just enjoy my late night dinner on a school night watching the team I loved.
And the games I wasn’t attending, the Rangers were always just part of my routine. The announcers voices, like Josh Lewin and Tom Grieve, were familiar and calming background noise at night in my teens.
I even loved the late night games against Oakland that would end at 1 AM. Sometimes I’d be rewarded with something extra special, like the time Frank Francisco threw a chair into the stands in Oakland. That’s a real core memory for me.
Will Baker
I consider myself very fortunate as a Rangers fan because I got to see a lot of significant moments, both good and bad.
I was raised with my dad having season tickets behind home plate. I even got an autograph from George Bush when I was 4 and when I asked my dad who he was he told me it was the next president of the United States.
I skipped the last half of school one Wednesday with my best friend and went to Dollar Hot Dog day. That same friend and I also were at the game where Shannon Stone passed.
I saw Michael Young's 2000th hit. I was a freshmen in college when Scott Bedgood and his friends invited me to Game 6 of the 2011 ALCS – and we won. Michael Young said "We're not done yet."
I then watched us lose Game 6 of the World Series at Scott’s apartment.
I remember Rougned Odor punching Jose Bautista, and then watching him flounder the rest of his career.
And after 12 years Michael Young's words came true - we weren't done, and we won it all. I watched us hoist the trophy with the same friend I skipped school with - only this time we skipped work.
Josh Ellis
I rarely bring this up because I don’t think people will believe me, but my first Rangers game was Kenny Rogers’ perfect game in 1994. Really.
I was 8, and my dad drove me and a friend on my little league team to the Ballpark. He bought tickets from a scalper and sat in the back row on the third base side. It was my first pro sporting event, and I just remember thinking the Ballpark was the biggest place I’d ever been. I remember the long walk up the winding concourse to the upper deck. I remember Rusty Greer’s diving catch, and back-to-back homers by Pudge and Jose Canseco. And I remember my dad telling us about Bo Jackson, who was playing for the Angels then. And I remember thinking the name Chili Davis was weird.
As much as anything, what I remember is the slow, traffic-jammed ride to get out of the parking lot. It had been a sell-out and the place was packed – one of those nights where it takes an hour to get back onto I-30. People were honking their horns and going crazy for the perfecto. And before I fell asleep, I asked my dad what everyone was honking for. He explained that the pitcher had thrown a perfect game – which I’d never heard of – and he told me what that meant and how rare it was, and I suppose I got it a little bit. So that was my first experience in the park.
But my fondest memories are from when I first moved to DFW after college, going out to the park by myself or with a friend for Dollar Hot Dog Night.
You could lie to the parking attendant at the Sheraton and tell them you were a bellman at the hotel and get to park for free. You could buy an upper deck ticket for like $9 and still find an empty seat in the lower bowl, under the awning, that the ushers wouldn’t chase you out of.
I would drink exactly two beers and eat exactly three hot dogs every time, spit sunflower seeds into an empty cup and just feel so adult.
I would drink exactly two beers and eat exactly three hot dogs every time, spit sunflower seeds into an empty cup and just feel so adult.
Thank you to everyone who shared their memories. I’d love to see more in the comments.
A final one for me, in Spring Training in 1997 we saw Mark McLemore in a parking lot and, being bold little kids, asked if he had anything he could give us. Without hesitation he pulled out his batting gloves and gave them to us. Then he posed for a photo, which, being a hyperactive little kid, I promptly messed up. But instead of walking away he patiently waited as we posed for another. That small act, something he forgot five seconds later, has always stuck out in our mind. He’s remained my mom’s favorite player because of what he did for her kids.
Because baseball, at it’s core, is always about who you share the game with. The players share it with the fans and the fans share it with their friends and families. And that’s why this just feels different.
This World Series is different than a Cowboys Super Bowl. Yes, the Rangers are a billion dollar organization with a billion dollar stadium but, for now, they’re still ours. As Josh Fortney put it, “The little Rangers are just the little Rangers and we all just love ‘em so much.”
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