by 
Looking back on the 2013 season can be a bit of a mixed bag. The highs of Shin-Soo Choo and Joey Votto dominating at the top of the lineup, paired with Mat Latos and Homer Bailey posting career years are fond memories. The lows include the massive void in left field (with no action taken to fill it at the trade deadline), as well as injuries to Sean Marshall (let’s not go there) and Johnny Cueto, resulting in a good-but-not-great pitching staff that couldn’t quite compensate for an average offense. While all this is certainly part of my long-term memory from 2013, there is one, specific part that is etched into my brain forever.
The Wild Card Game loss to Pittsburgh will be remembered by many as the final whimper from a team with potential to win it all but never broke through. For me, it is remembered as one of the most painful sports moments of my life that also elevated my love for the Reds and baseball to die-hard heights. It is a connection that is hard to explain, but I suppose I can give it a try.
I moved to Pittsburgh in August 2013 for my first job out of college which happened to be at Dicks Sporting Goods corporate office. I was a huge sports fan growing up and had always been surrounded by other sports fans, from my dad to my friends and pretty much everyone I spent considerable time with. But working in the baseball department of a sporting goods retailer upped the ante and provided some unique first-hand experience during the Pirates first playoff trip in 20 years. Combine that with the Reds five-game losing streak to end the season which surrendered home-field advantage to, guess who, Pittsburgh, and it was a wild couple of months to have moved to the city.
Coming off the 2012 playoffs, which are even harder to think about than 2013, physically going to the Wild Card Game was pretty much a no right off the bat. I was not feeling very confident about our chances as a result of the losing streak, not to mention the fact that I was right out of school and very broke. Bottom line, getting a ticket just didn’t make sense. Mostly, I just couldn’t imagine handling more disappointment while being in the actual stadium with nowhere to escape. So I decided to watch the game somewhere else and landed on a packed-house bar directly next to PNC Park with more Pirates fans per square foot than the actual stadium. That turned out to be an interesting decision.
Walking through the parking lots around the stadium was when I got my first culture shock and realized I was not in Cincinnati. I had been tailgating for Bengals games before, but never had I even seen tailgaters for a Reds game. Maybe that was a product of my dad always finding the furthest, cheapest parking lots, or never having been to a proper Opening Day party. Regardless, it just wasn’t something I was expecting to see before a baseball game. It almost seemed like the Pirates fans had adopted their Steelers fan mentality. They were excited, confident, and ready to defend their team from anyone who opposed them. My Reds shirt immediately drew the ire of every single person dawning black and yellow. I was expecting a little trash talk, but it felt like I was getting decades of frustration directed straight at me. If it wasn’t for the group of friends with me, I probably would have turned around right there.
Once inside the bar, reality sunk in even more. I could not walk five feet without someone yelling “Reds suck” or “Go Buccos” right in my face. I was behind enemy lines in a big way, seeing maybe one or two other brave souls in the entire establishment that lists 2600 as the maximum capacity. I spent the remainder of the pregame furiously hoping for a victory inside of my head and trying not to imagine the humiliation I would face if the Reds were to lose. Needless to say, I was very nervous.
As the game kicked off, the atmosphere had become absolutely incredible. The entire bar was reacting to every single pitch with as much intensity as a ninth-inning, tied-game at bat. Francisco Liriano’s strikes were cheered louder than regular season home runs. If Cueto missed the zone, you would know even if you were in the bathroom. I had severely underestimated the intensity that seemingly the entire city felt for this game. Maybe that is what happens when your teams win two Super Bowls and a Stanley Cup in a seven-year span. Why couldn’t the Pirates win the World Series too? Their fans certainly believed they were going to win this game, at the very least.
It only took two innings for things to get crazier. The Reds first six hitters went down in order, and a leadoff home run in the bottom of the second got the Pirates on the board. Then the chant started.
Cueeeeeeto. Cueeeeeeto. Cueeeeeeto.
However loud it was in the stadium, it was 10 times louder in the bar. Only two of my friends had been born and raised Pirates fan, but even the other guys who were along for the ride excitedly joined in. And then when Cueto dropped the ball, it was as if the whole city was taking part in the actual game. Of all the moments to make a minor, irrelevant mistake like that, this was the absolute worst time to do it. My stomach dropped. My heart sank. I looked down at the ground, hiding my head, desperately hoping for two more outs as soon as possible, but knowing full well that was probably not going to be the case.
Of course, it only took the next pitch for Russell Martin to blast the second dinger of the inning, maybe the most dramatic Pirates homer in 20 years, and send all of Pittsburgh into pandemonium. Every Pirates fan I made eye contact with was digging deep into my soul and letting me know that their team owned my team, at least in that moment. There was just no other way to explain it. It was the worst feeling I have ever had during a live sports game.
There was plenty of baseball left but I felt that the game was over right there. To be honest, I couldn’t even keep my full attention on the game anymore. I was in survival mode. Not too long after that fateful inning, someone approached me suggesting that I look for the nearest exit, just in case. One person told me I better hope the Pirates don’t blow the lead or things could turn ugly for me. I never felt in any real danger, especially since my roommate could bench over 300 pounds, but it was a situation I had never been in before. It was more than a baseball game, it was an experience.
After the dust settled and the game was finally over, I felt that my bond with the Reds had been strengthened, as if we had just been through a traumatic event together. I had always been a Reds fan but I’ll admit that other sports had taken priority in the past. After that game, baseball all the sudden took a stronghold on my interests. Witnessing another team end a playoff drought, similar to what the Reds did in 2010, gave me a new appreciation for the sport as a whole. The irony is how much of a role Pittsburgh, a city I used to despise more than anything, played a key role in that.
As I became more interested in baseball, new ideas and curiosities took over. After discovering FanGraphs the following season, advanced statistics became a part of my daily routine and merged my love of numbers with my new love of baseball. Travis Sawchik’s 2015 book Big Data Baseball came a year later and brought everything I had been experiencing full circle, detailing how the Pirates used new data and new methods to break back into the postseason. That book reignited my passion for writing, and two years later I started contributing to Redleg Nation. Last year I was fortunate enough to help out here at Reds Content Plus. Even though the Reds had their worst stretch in franchise history, I was more invested in the team than ever before.
The point of all this is that a truly terrible baseball game turned me into a bigger Reds fan, a bigger baseball fan, and brought me in touch with a new hobby that I enjoy. It is more than a silver lining, it’s part of the journey that sports can provide if we are open and willing to accept some tough defeats along the way. It’s the reason this is my most painful, and strongest, Reds memory of my lifetime.
[Featured image: https://twitter.com/Pirates/status/385221415437619200]
Matt,
Great post! I can relate to the feelings of hostility you describe – My dad and I were at the game (drove from Toledo, OH). We counted maybe 20-30 other Reds fans in the stadium. The actual number was likely larger but it sure didn’t feel that way.
My dad had a Jay Bruce jersey on; each and every time he stood up, fans behind us would scream, “Sit the **** down Bruce!”. When we went to the restrooms, people wouldn’t let us advance in line and told us to piss on ourselves.
The most “sobering” part was exiting the stadium right after the game ended – An usher saw us and asked where we had parked so he could direct us to the shortest route possible (spoiler…there was no short route). He wished us good luck and said to keep our heads on a swivel…that was how palpable the “energy” was everywhere. As you noted, it was easy to tell we weren’t in Cincinnati.
The bond between team & fan grew a considerable amount due to the experience.
Good for you for actually going to the game. One of these days the Reds will be on the winning side of a winner-take-all playoff game and all of the brutal losses like this will be worth it. At least I hope!