On Multiple Allegiances

By: Cee Angi 

It was recently brought to my attention that I may be committing one of the biggest faux pas in sports fandom.

Of course, I've heard rumblings all along that perhaps my ability to maintain multiple allegiances for teams might be a little bit strange-- I never realized that to some it was such a big deal.

When it recently came to light on Twitter that I do, in fact, support two Major League Baseball teams, you would be surprised the reactions I got.

After all, I assumed that supporting more than one team was probably the norm. But when someone realized that both of the teams I support are American League teams, a discussion (or argument) ensued.

Is it possible to like more than one team? Is it possible that those teams could play in the same league? What was the reasoning behind liking more than one? And why didn't I choose the Chicago Cubs?

I guess I should preface this whole conversation by admitting that while I have two teams, I also have other teams that when I hear their names mentioned I am flooded with memories of childhood and I feel a kindred spirit with those teams. It adds yet another level of complexity to the conundrum to say the least.

Perhaps I am atypical and the definition of a baseball polygamist, but before you condemn me, at least hear me out.

I will preface this entire conversation to say that at this stage of my advanced baseball fandom development, there is absolutely no team that could usurp the Boston Red Sox' place as the team that I support without wavering. It has been this way for the past 12 seasons, through World Series victories and Aaron Boones. Through starts like Pedro Martinez and idiots like Kevin Millar, I have been there and they have been there, too.

But, I do have a complicated history with being a fan of other teams, which is a product of how I was raised: moving frequently.

When I made the decision to move to Washington, DC I calculated my own stats. I am in my late 20s and I have lived in 17 different cities, 25 different houses, and 10 different states. And somewhat consistent with so many moves, it is easy to invent new iterations of one's self.

Baseball started for me as it does for most children: in the town where I was born. My parents were born and raised in southern Ohio, so I entered into a bond with the Cincinnati Reds from birth. Part of my childhood education from my father involved learning the roster of the 1975 Big Red Machine, even though they won the World Series ten years before I was born.

But as a talkative small child who enjoyed my fathers' attention, I'd start my own line of questioning similar to Abbott and Costello, and ask him who played first.

And he'd respond Tony Perez, then it would spiral into naming the rest of the starting lineup. I remember liking names like Dave Concepcion and Cesar Geronimo. I also thought it was silly that the catcher whose posture was so perfect it appeared he was sitting on something was named Bench. All of this occurred before I realized Joe Morgan would be terrible at broadcasting.

My first games were Reds games, in the seats in the upper level, terrified that I would fall down the extremely steep stairs at Riverfront Stadium. My dad would bring us Capri Suns to drink and we would stay for as many innings as young children are capable of sitting still. My sister would get restless much earlier than I would, and when it was time to go, we would listen to the game on the car ride back to our house.

But in 1992, I left Barry Larkin behind for the Atlanta Braves. To be fair, I could not really help it. My dad started a new job in Georgia and it was much easier to see a Braves game on television than it was to keep up with the Reds back in Ohio.

On the weekends, I would play catch with my father and he would help me with my catching skills while he showed me his fastball. In the evenings, we would watch the Braves games together, and I learned their roster much in the same way I learned the Reds. My favorite was Chipper Jones, and I liked Fred McGriff solely for his nickname: The Crime Dog.

During the 1995 World Series, I would fall asleep every night in my Chipper Jones T-shirt and a Braves hat, believing that it would bring good luck to the team...and history shows that I must have done something correct.

But the following season, we had relocated to Milwaukee, leaving the Braves behind. While it was easier to keep up with their Braves because of their nationwide broadcasts on TBS, admittedly when we moved, I stopped watching baseball regularly. There were a multitude of reasons, most of them personal. I still loved to go see a game, but I was more focused on my being an awkward child transitioning into an even more awkward teenager who spent a lot of time playing, not watching, sports.

When I returned to baseball a few years later, Pedro Martinez caught my eye. And rather instantly, I became a Boston Red Sox fan. Then I learned that Jason Varitek and Nomar Garciaparra were players I had a connection with because of my Georgia past, and I liked the team even more. And though I picked up the Red Sox at a time when the team wasn't exactly impressive (a 85-77 finish to the season), it did not really matter.

And the years that followed, I transitioned into a full-on Red Sox fan, with pilgrimages to Fenway, road games, and spring training. While some shake their head at the fact that I was not born in New England, I do not have a 100 year history with the team, nor do I have a wicked cool accent, there's nothing that can really change my connection with the team. I consider it a woman's prerogative to change her mind, but I also consider my decision to abandon two teams of my childhood a product of moving around frequently, and the lack of MLB.tv at the time.

But the hardest part of being a Red Sox fan and not living in Boston for me is my desire to watch live baseball: it makes life a bit more complicated.

When I lived in Louisville, it was not an issue. Their minor league team, the Bats, was stacked full of talent like Josh Hamilton and Joey Votto, and they were fun to watch. But when I moved to Chicago, I felt inclined to adopt a local team.

It was never my intent to adopt one of the two local teams as a replacement for the Red Sox. But, I did set out to find a team that was nearby that I could experience and enjoy in conjunction with the Red Sox as I lived 1,018 miles away from Fenway Park.

Realizing that life would be easier if I had an American League and a National League team, I decided to try the Cubs. But the ticket prices at the World's-Largest-Dilapidated-Beer-Garden, the fans, and a roster of milquetoast players that did not appeal to me. After witnessing two people throw up, a fist fight, a small child with a bladder problem, and an Old Style spilled on my messenger bag (all in one afternoon), I decided I would give the White Sox a try.

There was something about attending White Sox games that felt like home. It was a combination of the tailgating, the clean ballpark, and the attentiveness of the fans that worked to draw me in. And in my three year tenure, I attended over 60 games at US Cellular Field.

And with frequent attendance came a lot of memories.

I spent Sunday afternoon games alone in the upper level with my scorebook and company of a stranger seated next to me. My friend heckled Brennan Boesch for three innings while we sat at a picnic table just beyond the right field fence. I watched the Chicago Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup on the Jumbo-tron in center field after a White Sox victory. I was there for the Frank Thomas statue dedication, and during a season ticket holder event I leapt for an imaginary fly ball at the fence as a friend took a photograph.

According to my notes saw Ozzie Guillen get ejected four times.

And so I have spent the better part of three years balancing two teams. Same league, both sox. It may be crazy to support two American League teams; it may be crazier still that I abandoned the teams of my youth instead of keeping with family tradition and maintaining allegiance. But even though some critics would say I am breaking the rules of traditional baseball fandom, I don't see it that way.

My view is that there should not be any rules that dictate how anyone chooses to enjoy the game, as long as they are enjoying it. Whether that means fervent support of one team or a passive interest in all 30, that's the beauty of baseball: as much as it is a team sport, for fans your experience is a self-created and personal happiness of which you are the keeper.

And on that note: Go Sox....and Sox.