At the ballpark Sunday I noticed that the back of every other seat carried a strip with a QR code, from Hard Rock Casino, inviting fans to place their bets. I found it discouraging that the Marlins management was encouraging gambling, but worse than that – as a group that fields a below 500 team – it was tempting fans to bet against their own team.
Arrived early to loanDepot Park yesterday – my first Marlins game of the season – and received a bobblehead of Dontrelle Willis. Taking my seat in section 26, I watched as the former All-Star stood at second base and was inducted into the Marlins Legends Hall of Fame.
The Dodgers went ahead 3-0. The Marlins scored two in the bottom of the eighth, on a single by Lopez, but the Dodgers scored one in the top of the ninth.
There didn’t seem much hope for the Fish. But they started the bottom of the ninth with two infield hits, one a beautiful bunt laid down by Marsee. A double by Sanoja – just inside the third-base line, not far from my seat – brought both runners home. Now the score was tied, with a man on second and no outs. But everyone knows how hard it can be to bring a man home from second, especially for a team whose record is under 500. The next batter, pinch hitter Agustin Ramirez, sent a ball into the left field stands and thousands of Marlins fans into a frenzy. All game they had been outnumbered, and drowned out, by Dodger fans, and now there was joyous pandemonium for the home team - the overlooked, unappreciated, feisty underdogs.
In 2011, I got a gig covering the U.S. Open for a now defunct online tennis magazine. The experience was so wonderful – choice seats, daily happy hour (free Honey Deuces), player interviews (Andrea Petkovic!) – that it spoiled me for attending the tournament as a regular spectator. This year, with players complaining about disruptions from influencers, the abuse of hecklers, the smell of weed, I’m glad I went, to quote Evelyn Waugh, “when the going was good.”
The biggest story in tennis this summer has been that of Alexandra Eala, the 21-year-old Filipina who has captivated fans and been enthusiastically embraced by her compatriots at every tournament she’s appeared in. Opponents have found themselves up against not only her talent and drive, which are considerable, but also boisterous crowds that are so passionate in their support that they seem almost hostile to the woman on the other side of the net (applauding, for instance, her double faults).
You’d think this would create resentment, friction, bad blood, and yet what we’ve witnessed this summer has been the opposite. Jessica Pegula, holding the runner-up trophy at the tournament in DC that Eala won, spoke appreciatively of the Filipino fans, and the way that tennis is making new inroads around the world. A few days later in Toronto, Caty McNally lost to Eala in a tough three-setter and then thanked the rising star at the net for “letting” her be a part of such an amazing atmosphere. Amanda Anisimova, who beat Eala this week in Cincinnati, acknowledged in her on-court interview after the match that she was not the crowd favorite, noting that Eala is extremely popular, then adding, “deservedly so.”
Three female athletes – two just moments from a disappointing loss – demonstrating graciousness and a remarkable generosity of spirit.
Tommy John, the former major league pitcher for whom a now common elbow surgery is named, has entered hospice care. He has written a letter of thanks to fans, former teammates, and the man who developed the surgery, Dr. Frank Jobe. In a just world, it would be known as Dr. Frank Jobe surgery.
The title of the story splashed across the front page of the Wall Street Journal Review section read: “How the U.S. Lost the World Cup – and Won Over the World.”
It seemed a fair assessment; the general consensus – even in non-U.S. media – was that this World Cup was an unqualified success. Which is not surprising. We are a sports-obsessed nation – so much so that we can even embrace a sport that is not our own – and we love a party. And the World Cup combines sport and parties as no other athletic competition. It makes the Olympics look as if they were run by ayatollahs. Perhaps, instead of starting wars, we should dedicate ourselves to becoming a beloved international host, relieving the world of its cares and seducing its citizens with free refills and stuffed raccoons.