DK: That feeling coursing through PNC Park ... was that hope?
Fandom is founded, as I’ve forever seen it, on hope.
Not hope fulfilled, necessarily. That's easy. That's showing up for the parade.
Nope, just plain old hope.
At 4:43 p.m. on this third of April, the occasion of the Pittsburgh Baseball Club's 145th home opener before an over-capacity crowd of 38,986 inside PNC Park, on a two-strike curve over the outer corner that no hitter should be able to convert into anything other than pain ...
... yeah, that. Left of center. Pulled the thing. With authority.
I won't go overboard. I swear. It's a magical moment, but it's one. It's a wonderful win -- Pirates 5, Orioles 4 -- but it's one. I'll heed the advice of Konnor Griffin's mom, Kim, in beseeching all of us in this city to take it easy on her kid, who's still a few days shy of his 20th birthday. That's smart. That's sound.
But I'll also reiterate. The hope doesn't need to be fulfilled. It just needs to exist.
And I'm plenty comfortable putting forth, even now, even related to this most hopeless of professional sports franchises for far too long, it most assuredly exists anew.
Hope looks like those people I saw pretty much pressing up against the home plate gate to squeeze inside a full hour before first pitch:
DEJAN KOVACEVIC / DKPS
Hope sounds like the extra bit of burst to everyone's cheers with the annual pregame intros:
"It was unbelievable," Mitch Keller, the afternoon's afterthought starter despite his six strong innings. "I took a moment before the game just to kind of look around, and take it all in. It kind of felt like a playoff baseball crowd. Honestly, it's just kind of something we strive for."
Which he'd share with Henry Davis upon their post-warmup walk together from the bullpen.
"I was like, ‘Hey, man, this is what we play for. Let's go. Let's have some fun.’ We'll revisit this crowd in October when we're here."
October, for those unfamiliar with the month in the baseball context, is the one that commonly follows the end of the season in Pittsburgh.
And hope feels a little like this, my friends:
JOE SARGENT / GETTY
That photo, expertly shot by Joe Sargent of our partners at Getty Images, blurs Griffin on the basepaths appropriate to his actual speed, while emphasizing the fans in the bleachers.
Better believe that was felt by those who matter most. The ones who fed off Griffin's moment for a four-run rally. The ones who recognize that Griffin merely grafts on to an already-at-hand generational talent in Paul Skenes. To a superlative young starting rotation. And, in the most abstract way, to the promise of an NFL-style, NHL-style salary cap system that'll allow Bob Nutting, should he choose, to do more of what he's trying to do in signing Griffin to a long-term extension.
"Jeez, that's the most electric that I've heard PNC," Don Kelly would say and, bear in mind, that's coming from a local. "Just a credit to the fans for the atmosphere, the electricity. It was unbelievable."
Bit of a pause there.
"I get emotional about that because being from here and to see PNC Park like that, the energy, I mean, even before we took the field, the chants when we're on the line, you know, that's ... that's what it's all about. And we need to continue to earn that back."
One of the newest arrivals was wowed, as well.
"This was probably the rowdiest home group that I think I've ever played in front of," Brandon Lowe was saying after his lasered double in the first inning served as the icebreaking hit. "It was fantastic from the very beginning. To get the first hit out of the way and hear them erupt, yeah, it was a fun game."
Some are too young to get it. All they've witnessed is failure. Or, at the most, a Russell Martin moment that'd soon morph right back into a mirage, like it never happened.
Some are too old to patiently wait anymore.
When I see the Pirates facing the Orioles, I think of the great Steve Blass and his timeless, titanic takedown of that mighty Baltimore team in Game 7 of the 1971 World Series. And truth be told, when I think of the Pirates as a civic institution, I think of Blass. He's been the caretaker, in a sense, for so many of the franchise's older alumni, the central figure. He's played, he's announced, he's succeeded, he's fallen, he's given a lifetime.
It's been a hard, hard winter in the alumni world. There went Dave Giusti, the All-Star closer on that '71 team, in January. There went Elroy Face, the man who pioneered the closer concept itself, a month later. And then, of course, there went Bill Mazeroski but a few days later.
Hope can transcend that. It can transcend age.
Blass was seated in the back of the press box for this. When I noticed him there, minutes before Griffin's initial at-bat, I walked back up to sit alongside, so we could witness whatever took place together.
"Look at this place," Blass would tell me of the ovation that preceded Griffin getting into the box. "Look at how much they want this. Listen to them. Think about how much we all want this."
Crack!
Let's do this once more, only this from the boisterous voices of Blass' lifelong best bud, Greg Brown, in the broadcast booth:
THE ASYLUM
DK: That feeling coursing through PNC Park ... was that hope?
Fandom is founded, as I’ve forever seen it, on hope.
Not hope fulfilled, necessarily. That's easy. That's showing up for the parade.
Nope, just plain old hope.
At 4:43 p.m. on this third of April, the occasion of the Pittsburgh Baseball Club's 145th home opener before an over-capacity crowd of 38,986 inside PNC Park, on a two-strike curve over the outer corner that no hitter should be able to convert into anything other than pain ...
... yeah, that. Left of center. Pulled the thing. With authority.
Insane.
I won't go overboard. I swear. It's a magical moment, but it's one. It's a wonderful win -- Pirates 5, Orioles 4 -- but it's one. I'll heed the advice of Konnor Griffin's mom, Kim, in beseeching all of us in this city to take it easy on her kid, who's still a few days shy of his 20th birthday. That's smart. That's sound.
But I'll also reiterate. The hope doesn't need to be fulfilled. It just needs to exist.
And I'm plenty comfortable putting forth, even now, even related to this most hopeless of professional sports franchises for far too long, it most assuredly exists anew.
Hope looks like those people I saw pretty much pressing up against the home plate gate to squeeze inside a full hour before first pitch:
DEJAN KOVACEVIC / DKPS
Hope sounds like the extra bit of burst to everyone's cheers with the annual pregame intros:
"It was unbelievable," Mitch Keller, the afternoon's afterthought starter despite his six strong innings. "I took a moment before the game just to kind of look around, and take it all in. It kind of felt like a playoff baseball crowd. Honestly, it's just kind of something we strive for."
Which he'd share with Henry Davis upon their post-warmup walk together from the bullpen.
"I was like, ‘Hey, man, this is what we play for. Let's go. Let's have some fun.’ We'll revisit this crowd in October when we're here."
October, for those unfamiliar with the month in the baseball context, is the one that commonly follows the end of the season in Pittsburgh.
And hope feels a little like this, my friends:
JOE SARGENT / GETTY
That photo, expertly shot by Joe Sargent of our partners at Getty Images, blurs Griffin on the basepaths appropriate to his actual speed, while emphasizing the fans in the bleachers.
Better believe that was felt by those who matter most. The ones who fed off Griffin's moment for a four-run rally. The ones who recognize that Griffin merely grafts on to an already-at-hand generational talent in Paul Skenes. To a superlative young starting rotation. And, in the most abstract way, to the promise of an NFL-style, NHL-style salary cap system that'll allow Bob Nutting, should he choose, to do more of what he's trying to do in signing Griffin to a long-term extension.
"Jeez, that's the most electric that I've heard PNC," Don Kelly would say and, bear in mind, that's coming from a local. "Just a credit to the fans for the atmosphere, the electricity. It was unbelievable."
Bit of a pause there.
"I get emotional about that because being from here and to see PNC Park like that, the energy, I mean, even before we took the field, the chants when we're on the line, you know, that's ... that's what it's all about. And we need to continue to earn that back."
One of the newest arrivals was wowed, as well.
"This was probably the rowdiest home group that I think I've ever played in front of," Brandon Lowe was saying after his lasered double in the first inning served as the icebreaking hit. "It was fantastic from the very beginning. To get the first hit out of the way and hear them erupt, yeah, it was a fun game."
Some are too young to get it. All they've witnessed is failure. Or, at the most, a Russell Martin moment that'd soon morph right back into a mirage, like it never happened.
Some are too old to patiently wait anymore.
When I see the Pirates facing the Orioles, I think of the great Steve Blass and his timeless, titanic takedown of that mighty Baltimore team in Game 7 of the 1971 World Series. And truth be told, when I think of the Pirates as a civic institution, I think of Blass. He's been the caretaker, in a sense, for so many of the franchise's older alumni, the central figure. He's played, he's announced, he's succeeded, he's fallen, he's given a lifetime.
It's been a hard, hard winter in the alumni world. There went Dave Giusti, the All-Star closer on that '71 team, in January. There went Elroy Face, the man who pioneered the closer concept itself, a month later. And then, of course, there went Bill Mazeroski but a few days later.
Hope can transcend that. It can transcend age.
Blass was seated in the back of the press box for this. When I noticed him there, minutes before Griffin's initial at-bat, I walked back up to sit alongside, so we could witness whatever took place together.
"Look at this place," Blass would tell me of the ovation that preceded Griffin getting into the box. "Look at how much they want this. Listen to them. Think about how much we all want this."
Crack!
Let's do this once more, only this from the boisterous voices of Blass' lifelong best bud, Greg Brown, in the broadcast booth:
Let's hear it for hope.
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