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By ssiscribe
ATLANTA – Eighteen years. The time it takes for an infant to grow into a high-school graduate.
That’s how long it’s been since the Atlanta Braves have provided us with a season like this, a season that flew off the rails long ago, a season that is destined to finish with 90 losses.
Eighteen years. It’s a long, long time frame. Let’s rewind the clock for a minute.
I was 17 in 1990, looking forward to my senior year in high school, looking forward to college and adulthood. Atlanta was awarded the Summer Olympics, the city’s first major victory in anything remotely related to sports. Evander Holyfield won the heavyweight boxing championship. Georgia Tech kicked off its undefeated season, one that would end with the Yellow Jackets claiming a share of the national championship.
The Braves? Well, they stunk, losing 97 games and finishing last in the NL West. But what else was new? The Braves had been bad for the four previous years, and the 1990 season was no different. Atlanta lost 13 of its first 15 games, found itself 10 ½ games out of first as early as April 28, and finished 26 games behind the eventual World Champion Reds.
Then came 1991. I graduated high school and started college, and everything changed for my favorite baseball team … forever.
The fall would come; this, we all knew deep down inside. At some point, the run of division championships, the thrilling Octobers, the pursuit of the world championship, would come crashing down. We knew it would be painful to watch. But nobody dared to dream it would take this long to occur.
Even the past two years, which ended with the Braves standing outside the postseason party, carried with it a modest amount of hope as August unfolded. The wild card was still in play for Atlanta two years ago, the division still up for grabs last season.
Then came 2008. A season of high hopes, of lofty expectations, of talk surrounding a division title and a pennant, crashed into an abyss we haven’t seen in, oh, 18 years. The pitching staff imploded under the weight of injuries and overuse. The hitters became allergic to clutch situations. The team couldn’t win on the road for the first two months, couldn’t win at home in the heat of summer, couldn’t win at all in games decided by one run. Too few players lived up to expectations.
And so, here we are, smack-dab in the midst of misery, baseball style. It’s a long, long season when you’re winning. When you’re losing, well, it feels like the journey to October never will end. Get up, watch, lose, go to bed. Shake. Stir. Repeat.
It tastes bad going down, for sure, especially after eating steak and shrimp for the better part of two decades.
The focus long ago shifted to 2009, and that’s probably a good thing. There is little to salvage from a season that’s seen more injuries, more blown games, more frustration than this franchise and its now-beleaguered fan base has endured since the dawn of the ’90s. We’re tucked into the bomb shelter, experiencing the depths of a nuclear winter, something not experienced by Braves Nation in what seems like forever.
Actually, it’s not been forever. It’s been 18 years. And while so much has changed since 1990, one thing remains the same:
Being buried in August stinks.
The Scribe abides.
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