By Mark Bennett
TERRE HAUTE — More than once, my children — at young school ages — heard the taunts.
They’d tell me, “Dad, the other kids say the Reds suck.”
Given their prevalence in this region, I suspected these rapscallions were Cubs fans. I said, “Ask them, ‘Which came first — sliced bread or the Cubs’ last world championship?’” (Chicago won it all in 1908. Sliced bread debuted 20 years later.)
Actually, I admire supporters of Chicago’s lovable losers, for the same reason I enjoy hoping against hope, night after night through 162 Reds games. The Cubs are their team, and they’ve stuck by their boys of summer through thick and (101 years worth of) thin. They’re loyal.
I started following the Reds because my dad did. He and Mom grew up in the shadow of Cincinnati in a quiet Ohio River town called Aurora. Dad and his high school buddies often rode the train into Cincy to watch the Reds at Crosley Field, and Mom worked for a time in the downtown district.
A job promotion for Dad led them to move to Terre Haute, where I was born and grew up. But the Queen City was still just a three-hour drive away, so maintaining a Reds allegiance wasn’t hard. They were as close as any other big league team, including the Cubs, White Sox and Cardinals. It was a natural, for me.
About the same time I was learning to read at school, Dad taught me to read the box scores in the newspaper every morning at home. That season, 1966, wasn’t much better than the current one. Cincinnati finished 76-84 — a full 18 games out of first place. I don’t remember waffling or considering defecting to a more glittering team like the Dodgers or the Orioles.
I’m glad I didn’t bail on them. The Reds rewarded me. They started winning the next season, and won the National League pennant when I turned 10. By the time I graduated from high school, they’d become the Big Red Machine — the best team in the majors — with back-to-back world championships and a lineup full of Hall of Famers and All-Stars. In the ’76 Series, they swept the Yankees. (I could write that sentence a thousand times and never get tired of it.) Frequently, our family sat in a packed Riverfront Stadium, watching it all happen.
Of course, it’s not so glorious today. The 2009 Reds are dueling with Pirates for last place in the NL Central — once again, 18 games out of first, as of Tuesday. No doubt rivals like the Cardinals, Dodgers, Phillies or the Yankees look like a better option for loss-weary Reds backers. Like the legions of Cubs fans, I just can’t do that. Rooting for another team is like wearing your shoes on the opposite feet; it just doesn’t feel right.
Two weeks ago, we were back in Reds country — my wife and I, our son, his girlfriend, and our daughter. We walked downtown past Fountain Square. When our boys were little, our Reds trips usually included a pregame stop at the Cincy Shop to check out the new T-shirts and team stuff. This time, we had just enough time before the opening pitch to eat at Skyline Chili. (That cinnamon-laced delicacy is a Cincinnati tradition and an acquired taste.) Then, we hoofed it down to Great American Ballpark.
That stadium outshines its predecessor, Riverfront. From its seats, you can actually see the Ohio River — barges, speedboats and yachts churning past in the twilight — and the rustic Kentucky town nestled on the hills of its south bank. We were in Great American Ballpark for its debut back in March 2003. Little did we know what a rough year lay ahead, when the Reds finished just 69-93. But on that night, it felt good to be a Reds fan. Ken Griffey Jr. homered. Another Reds future Hall of Famer, Barry Larkin, called the place “incredible … an absolute Field of Dreams.” Our kids got lots of autographs as my wife and I snapped pictures from our fourth-row seats — they, too, are Reds fans.
The Reds team we watched two weeks ago is on a pace to match that rough 2003 record. It’s been a long while since they were winners. They haven’t won a World Series since our boys were toddlers. But on that beautiful August night, everything felt right. It probably helped that they were playing the lowly Washington Nationals, but so what? Cincinnati’s rock ’n’ roller pitcher, Bronson Arroyo, threw magnificently — a two-hit shutout. Only one National reached second base.
Arroyo’s masterpiece wasn’t even the highlight, though. We also witnessed something I’d never seen in-person through a lifetime of Reds watching. Cincinnati left fielder Jonny Gomes whacked three home runs, back-to-back-to-back in his first three at-bats. After his first two — both bullets off his bat — Gomes drilled another over the wall in dead center field, 410 feet. He pumped his fist in the air as he rounded the bases, and came out of the dugout afterward for a curtain call to 16,889 diehards. We stood up, cheering and high-fiving each other as fireworks exploded over the right-field wall, illuminating the river below.
The drama built for Gomes’ last at-bat, but his chance for a fourth ended instead with a called third strike. But the Reds won 7-0.
That same night, the first-place Tigers were shutting out the Red Sox, and the first-place Phillies pounded the Cubs 6-1. As for me, I’m glad we were in Cincinnati. We came home with our cellphones full of pictures of us, and a night to remember. And, call me a dreamer, but I see better days ahead. I’ll be in the Reds’ corner then, too.
Say it with me, Cubs fans … wait till next year.
Mark Bennett can be reached at (812) 231-4377 or mark.bennett@tribstar.com.
