‘I hate baseball’: On the end of a magical Phillies ride, and what it means to be a fan

My 9-year-old folded himself into a sobbing ball of misery when Phillies reliever José Alvarado gave up the titanic home run that effectively crushed the Phillies’ World Series dreams Saturday night.

Kieran was wordless, at first, but when he spoke, it broke my heart.

“I hate baseball,” he said.

I get it, kid. I have also been feeling low-grade melancholy. The days after the end of the Phils’ season are always a bummer; the days after this unlikely, magical postseason ride jerked abruptly to a stop have been excruciating.

» READ MORE: Why I tweet ‘beloved heroes’ after each Phillies win and what it means — to me and my kids

Whether by genetics or by osmosis, my oldest absorbed the baseball gene — specifically, the Phillies gene. Kieran was watching spring training games in Clearwater, Fla., at age 2; by age 4, he was a diehard, scoffing at anyone who suggested he might like to take a break from watching a game to get ice cream or take a walk around the ballpark.

By the time he turned 9, the Phillies were rarely far from his mind. I can talk about baseball until I’m blue in the face, but there were moments this season when I had to ask Kieran to change the subject because I could not dissect Ranger Suárez’s last start for another minute.

Kieran loved the Phillies when they were terrible, hanging on to the little things — like a come-from-behind win — for hope. And when the Phils started the 2022 season much better, on paper, than the 2021 squad, Kieran declared confidently that he saw our team making it to the postseason.

“I hope you’re right,” I told him.

I doubted, but he had faith. He had faith when Joe Girardi got fired as manager in June. And he had faith in September, when I was bracing for a crash-and-burn scenario. My dad told Kieran stories about the Phillies’ epic 1964 collapse, and I wondered if Kieran would one day tell his grandkids a similar story about the 2022 Phillies.

Kieran and I cheered together in Game 4 of the National League Championship Series, when he saw his first playoff game in person, staying up as late as he ever has to witness a win. We celebrated the pennant, and he made me promise I’d take him to the parade if the Phillies won it all.

But that was not to be — this year, at least.

After the Astros’ Yordan Álvarez crushed that homer in the excruciating final game, I told Kieran that while he was surely feeling abject misery, he didn’t hate baseball, and he certainly didn’t hate the Phillies.

In fact, I told him, his sadness stemmed from how much he loves the game and the team that captured the city’s heart. I told him he was a real fan now, someone whose love had been battle-tested, and was now stronger. I told him it was OK to cry, but that soon he would want to bend my ear about baseball again because we Phillies fans are made of tough stuff.

“We should be happy the Phillies got this far, right, Mama?” asked Julian, my 6-year-old, who I think may have caught the baseball bug this year watching his brother.

Since that devastating ending to the season, to give my boys something to get excited about, we counted the days until spring training started: around 100. I have faith that, by that time, we will all love baseball again.

In fact, as I wrote this Monday night, I could hear “Dancing On My Own,” the song the Phillies adopted as their victory anthem, coming from Kieran’s room. He was watching highlights of the 2022 season.