When I learned of Rich Harden's return to the DL, my immediate reaction was textbook perfect - shock (you're KIDDING!), denial (No way. It's a cruel joke), anger (how dare he!!!). I was counting on watching him pitch at Coors Field in two weeks and the fact I wouldn't be nearly undid me. I was furious at Rich for daring to get injured all the time, especially when I was counting on him to be present and healthy. I was quick to lay the blame on him and whoever else I could name. I was heartbroken. Rich just might be my favorite player. My one chance to see him was host. I screamed loud obscenities and punched things. All of them were inatimate.
I decided to go for a run to get some of the my anger out. Running at 8200 feet and uphill is no easy feat, and there is something about forcing you body to do something very difficult that is amazingly calming. About halfway through the two and a half mile loop, I was working much too hard to by angry. As I approached the last stretch, I re-evaluated things in my head. I first established the facts:
1. I'm still in love with the A's and Rich. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be so angry.
2. I'm not mad at Rich for getting injured, I'm mad at him for being injured. There's a difference, and I decided it was important to make this distinction.
3. I was Rich to come back and be healthy.
4. I'm still going to see the A's play - for the 3 games.
5. The A's are still putting a team on the field.
I thought, in the earlier stages of my run, about why, and came up with the conclusion that some divine power doesn't like the A's. Later, I thought about this and decided, considering I don't hold with divine powers, that was entirely stupid. I chose instead to believe in some other reason, like bad karma, bad luck, bad vibes, bad hocus pocus, ghosties and ghoulies, whatever you want to call it, something that isn't nice. I then came to the conclusion that I probably couldn't do anything about it besides shake my fist and shout "Curse you!" which wouldn't be any help anyway.
I was definitely feeling calmer by the time I puffed back into my house, and a few spoonfuls of mint chocolate chip ice cream helped. I couldn't really explain what happened between then (the start of the run), and now, but I hazarded a guess that I passed into the "acceptance" stage. Of course I want Rich back and of course I hate it that he's out. I had two choices of what to do about it:
A. Rant and rave and get completely upset at Rich and the A's, and miss out on the opportunity to really enjoy seeing them.
B. Accept I still love Rich and the A's, send positive energy by the truckload, mail, and all other means possible, and have a riotously good time when they come to town.
I think you know which one I chose. Whatever kind of hocus pocus you want to call it, all this bad stuff must even out sometime. As a hopeless optimist, I prefer to look at that day. In the meantime...
I'm ass over teakettle in love with the A's.