It’s Tough to Be Sad About the Cleveland Indians

I’m having a bit of trouble getting all my thoughts about the Cleveland Indians’ loss to the Chicago Cubs in last night’s Game 7 of the World Series, but they boil down to this; I’m not mad.

The injuries to Carlos Carrasco and Danny Salazar were supposed to cripple this rotation in the playoffs.

Abraham Almonte’s suspension and Michael Brantley’s season long injury drama was supposed to leave this outfield in tatters.

Yan Gomes’ offensive struggles and twice broken hand, which led to Roberto Perez’s inconsistency and inexperience, was supposed to warrant half of the Indians battery ineffective.

All those things did eventually catch up to the Indians, and that’s a damn shame. But they also created a few things I’ll never forget. They created Coco Crisp; Postseason Hero.

The national coming out party for everybody’s favorite infield.

Run through a wall dedication from the Indians pitching staff. Even when they weren’t great, that was amazing to see.

Josh Tomlin was a Cleveland hero in Chicago, in front of his dad.

Party at Napoli’s.

Miller Time.

That Rajai Davis home run.

It’s easy to hate the Cubs after losing to them. It’s easy to hate Joe Buck and that Fox Broadcast for pining for Chicago to end the curse. It’s easy to have daydreams about screaming at Cubs fans until they go back to their side of the Great Lakes.

I know it’s easy because I did all those things, but it’s okay. The Indians rekindled baseball in Northeast Ohio. Stipe, the Monsters, the RNC, the love even during protests, the Flats, the hotels, the bridge is done(!), Richard Jefferson’s Snapchat, LeBron’s high road, the 1.3 million person* parade… That’s what the summer of 2016 is about; that the team and the fans and the city don’t believe in ‘Only in Cleveland’ anymore.

Or, maybe we do.