Mail call coming later, but I wanted to do something quickly on the responses to the piece on Eric Gregg.
Many have come forth and told me I was courageous for admitting my mistakes in a public forum. Interestingly, I don’t see it that way. I’m fucked up like everyone’s fucked up. The world would be a better place if people weren’t so proud about pretending not to be fucked up.
But there was a small minority that hit me up telling me how sick I am and how these are just games. First, it’s pretty clear those people didn’t read the piece. I already said that stuff, folks. Thanks for telling me things I not only knew, but told you I knew. Way to waste your boss’s bandwidth.
I’m not so sold these are just games, though. I’ve followed the Braves for the better part of the last 20 years. My first love wasn’t my girl in high school or college. It was the Atlanta Braves.
And I have no shame in saying that.
Sports teams have a way of generating emotions. I’m really not sure why. Perhaps it’s because the importance of sports has been socialized for so long that I take it as given, but I really don’t think anything is wrong with me ridin’ and dyin’ for the Braves, Heels, Falcons, ‘Horns or anyone else. They stoke my passion and I ride with that.
My problem with myself as it related to Gregg was the indifference I felt when he took ill. That was inhumane, and I was wrong for that. But that’s what happens when love’s involved in something. You take leave of what’s rational and do and feel things that aren’t always right.
But this is not just a game to me. Not just because this is what I do for a living, but because this has been what I’ve done with my life for as long as I can remember. I love my teams and don’t apologize for it.
And neither should anyone else. We should just take note of what that love makes us do.