It’s hard, when you get no love from your own squad. They barely make Sportscenter and the only thing other fans outside of the Bay say is, “Your team should be in AAA.” I spent my college years in Boston in a sea of Red Sox and Yankees who just laughed at me. It was an amusement, “Wait, are you a Rays’ fan?…..Wow, that’s….That sucks. HA! Man, didn’t think there were any Rays fans.” Well, we exist and we have feelings, thank you. It stung a lot when you got to see AL playoffs that you thought you would never, ever see. There was no tradition of winning, there was not a major Rays’ nation, we played in a dome! Knowing what I know about the Rays, home games and a childhood spent there seemed to pale in comparison to my friends who grew up in Yankee Stadium, Fenway, even Camden Yards. We were a laughing stock compared to the epic ALCS matchups of 2004, 2005. My team was hard to embrace in the face of some best baseball games ever played, games that I would never get to be a part of.

I got over it, I made trips to Fenway knowing I could see my team and get a ticket that wasn’t in high demand on the corner of Yawkey. I kept the talk of my allegiance to the top of my head and paid more attention to the news in baseball. I hate to say it like this, but I faded.

Growing up going to games at the Trop was easy, you could get in for 8 bucks and sit 8 rows above the dugout by the second inning. It was even more common because my pops worked for Tropicana. News of free corporate tickets would drift through email chains and my Dad would end up leaving a voice mail at home saying, “Just got four tickets to the Rays game on Saturday, who’s in? Don’t all jump at once.” I loved going, we would drink in the parking lot, buy beer with someone’s brothers’ fake ID, and eat dollar dogs. It was a great way to spend a lazy summer day. I loved my team, but I wanted to taste October.

When I moved to Chicago, I knew I couldn’t root for the Cubs, to me they stunk of the Red Sox and Yankees with fans who were spoiled by tradition and pride of any sort that I couldn’t find in any corner of the Trop. I felt comfortable with following the Sox. They were a team that I could relate to, that I lived near and was surrounded by constantly. You start to follow a team, simply by the city you live in and you grow on a squad. You go to games and you gotta’ cheer for someone, pick the local boys. So, I did. Got plenty of chances to games, went all the time as a baseball fan but the Cell grew on me. I liked that team, they seemed humble like my hometown boys. Especially, in the ’07 season.

I knew that there would only be so many games when I had to pick sides and never thought that it would be in a game that mattered. They never really did, until I went to the Rays series in August this year. The White Sox got tested and the Rays won the series in a commanding fashion. I watched with mixed emotion trying to make sense of it all. Who are you? Who is this team wearing blue and white? Where’s the Devil Rays of purple and green? The team who was a joke. The team who I wanted to break out since I was 11. Now, a decade later, you mean something? When I’ve started talking to another team.

I knew the Rays would win the division but wasn’t close enough to New England anymore to relish it like I would have. I got my digs in on the Yankees and loved dethroning the Red Sox. (I can’t wait till Red Sox fans piss and moan and, then, piss their spoiled ass pants, when the Rays win this ALCS. Fuck Brady. Fuck Papelbon. Fuck Paul Pierce.)

This was different. I like the White Sox. I went to the Twins playoff game alone cause I wanted to be a part of the Sox run. Knowing, full well, that a White Sox win would force a series start in Tampa Bay. What would I do? I waffled and rooted for the series to go deep, just to enjoy the ride. I couldn’t ask for something more fulfilling than to know that I had the luck of being happy with either team going to the playoffs. I felt a huge swell of pride, knowing that the Red Sox were the wildcard and the Twins had to go home.

But I was clearly torn. I stumbled through conversations about my colors during the series. I just changed the subject tried to explain my situation. My father wrote an accusatory text message from Tropicana Field during game 2, “Remember where you were Raysed, boy.” I was torn. I knew game one would go to the Rays and I was good there. Game two was understood, frustrating for the Sox fan in me because a sweep was on the horizon. We got over that hump Sunday and I was glad to know that a game 4 would be played Monday. After Upton’s homerun, though, I knew it was coming. This Rays team is good and we were on the ropes by the 4^th. Even though a number of my expletives expressed frustration with Sox hitting I walked away from the game thinking. Is my Crawford jersey clean? Cause I’m gonna fucking murder some Red Sox fans and lose my voice in bar, send obnoxious voicemails to all my spoiled college buddies wearing their Brady jersey and ’04 World Series hats. Then I’m gonna take a day off work and go see a World Series game in the Trop with my buddies who still live with their parents. Who can’t get excited for that opportunity?

Fairweather, traitor, bandwagon? Yeah, I get it, feel free to launch them all at me but I really don’t care because I’m in love with baseball, and right now, it loves me back.

[tags]live chat, chicago white sox, tampa bay rays, baseball, mlb, mlb playoffs[/tags]