(For my brother, October 27 2021)
The 2021 World Series has just begun, and some friends think I’m delusional for picking the Braves to win it all. I’m not. They simply don’t know about the secret weapon Atlanta carries into every inning: my brother, now cheering from the bleachers of heaven.
The Ultimate Braves Fan
Long before illness anchored him to an easy chair in his garage, my brother devoured baseball.
- Stats? Rattled off like phone numbers.
- Trade rumors? Heard them before beat writers did.
- Off-season gossip? Tracked with two TVs, a desktop, a laptop, and a legal pad—his own command center.
Disability might have shrunk his world, but it expanded his time to love the Braves without interruption. He wasn’t bitter; he was busy—charting lineups, sketching playoff scenarios, and welcoming anyone who’d listen to a clinic on Braves lore.
Opening Night in Two Realms
When Atlanta jumped to a 5-0 lead in Game 1, I pictured him leaping from that celestial seat, finally unshackled from earthly pain. In my mind he’s high-fiving Hank Aaron, reciting OPS splits to bewildered saints, and grinning so wide even the seraphs take notice.
I’d like to imagine he nudged Gurriel’s eighth-inning single just short of the wall or dusted Rosario’s glove with a bit of angelic backspin—but that’s not how he loved the game. He believed every play should stand on its own: fair, honest, earned.
Why I Still Believe
So yes, I’m confident. The Braves have Freddie Freeman at first, Max Fried on the mound—and my brother in the heavenly outfield, hollering until the ushers beg him to keep it down. How do you beat that lineup?
If Atlanta hoists the trophy, I’ll smile, tip a cap skyward, and know exactly whose voice carried loudest when hope needed an echo.
Here’s to you, brother—forever the bravest Brave.
