Re: Your rooting interest
As a child, I can remember with great excitement getting the Reds ticket form, as my dad would allow both my brother and myself to choose one game a year to attend. My brother was a Dodger's fan, though he no longer follows baseball much. I, on the other hand, continue to follow the Reds, despite the great distance from Montana to Ohio.
For me, a lot surrounds memories of going to the ballpark with my dad. The slowness of the game seemed appropriate for conversation and just enjoying time my father. I can even recall my dad pointing out a merlin, a bird of prey I had never seen before that time, chasing pigeons in the rafters of Riverfront Stadium.
Last year I went back from Montana and took my dad to a game. I cannot recall who they were playing, but I do know they lost. But during that game, I choked back the tears more than a couple of times, thinking of the memories, wondering if it would be our last ballgame together.
It has not mattered who was on the team, or how bad they might have been, the Reds have always been my team. There was, however, one time when I stopped flying to Ohio from Montana to attend games, which was when Marge Schott made her racist and loaded comments. I made a silent oath to never buy any Reds paraphernalia or attend any games until Mrs. Schott sold the team, and I never strayed from that promise to myself. I can recall being deeply embarrassed at the time by following and loving a team that was owned by such a blatant racist.
I know others on here may not share my distaste - Marge brought us the Series winner in '90, but I was not anywhere near as happy then as I was in '75 and '76.