By Ronald N. Guy Jr.
As Buffalo Springfield once said, “there’s something
happening here…and what it is ain’t exactly clear.”
For 20 years Washington D.C. sports has been a gory horror
flick on a continuous loop. It’s been
so bad, for so long that District sports fans have forgotten how to support a
winner. This was once a fan base that
carried itself with a confident swagger and puffed out its chest at any mouthy
challenger. Now, our profound
pessimism, the product of nearly peerless futility, is so omnipotent that we
snuff out any indication of better days and will our negative prophecies into
reality. You see, D.C. is the town
where a fan’s hope goes to die. That’s
just how it is…and at this point we can’t imagine it any other way.
With that odd but true rant over, it’s understandable why
the recent confluence of goodness that’s descended upon the nation’s capital
has been so confounding. First, the
‘Skins boldly acquired Robert Griffin III – the exact person, player and position
the franchise and fan base needed. Then
the Capitals, perennial playoffs disasters that they mostly have been, seem to
have hacked into the winning formula for playoff hockey and pleasantly
overachieved this year. And finally,
while even jaded Nationals fans would have acknowledged the team’s likely
improvement this year, I don’t think anyone expected them to be this good. Despite a rash of injuries, the Nats keep
winning behind the tried and true formula of exceptional pitching and timely
hitting. What’s more promising though –
for both the short- and long-term - is the return to form of pitching ace
Stephen Strasburg and the recent addition of a teenage sparkplug.
Bryce Harper, 19, isn’t just another prospect. Harper, who followed Strasburg as the
Nationals’ second consecutive #1 overall pick in the MLB draft, was from day
one considered a franchise-altering talent.
Like most teenagers, Harper’s performance to date has been inconsistent
and there were rumblings about his arrogance and immaturity. The organization’s plan was to season Harper
a little more at Triple-A and call him up later in the year. Injuries and a desperate need for some
offensive pop accelerated Harper’s ascent and he was tapped to make his major
league debut on April 28th.
Let me admit this up front: except for a few random minor
league clips, I hadn’t laid eyes on Harper between the lines until he threw on
a Nationals uniform. I expected to see
an ordinary pro with flashes of exceptional talent. By “ordinary pro” I mean a guy who glides through games with a
grace that indicates he is perhaps more concerned about pacing himself through
a 162-game regular season rather than exerting maximum effort to win any
particular game. You know what I’m
talking about. Major League games are
littered with batters jogging out fly balls or running out base hits with the
assumption the outfield will field it cleanly as opposed to “thinking two” from
the crack of the bat and looking to capitalize on the slightest bobble in the
outfield. That’s just how
major-leaguers play the game.
Harper didn’t get that memo. Harper, bursting with youthful exuberance, plays like there’s no
game tomorrow, never mind the ~125 games remaining this summer. He hustles out every ball, throws his body
all over the field and regularly exits with a bloodied and heavily soiled
uniform. The kid’s crash-test-dummy
approach reminds me of the passion regularly on display during the County’s
Rocking Chair Softball League’s hey day.
Indeed, Harper would have fit right in with Pennies, the Hollywood Stars
and the legendary Hobos.
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