As spring starts and flowers bloom, I settle into an annual tradition. Baseball season starts in spring. Those who know me know that I’ve cheered for the Atlanta Braves from the start. People often follow that discovery with a question (or confusion, if you know my geographical history). No, I never lived in Atlanta, though I have visited a handful of times. For the record, I do not follow the American predisposition to cheer for a professional team based on geography. If anything, it irritates me that others assume that I would follow suit.
In 1982, the Atlanta Braves rocketed from next-to-last in the preceding year into first place through a 13-0 start. They kept that first-place position in the National League West on the last game of the season versus the Padres by the skin of their teeth. The start of the baseball season is magical. The 1982 Braves weaved that magic. They were the embodiment of the little engine that could. Geography does not undo that kind of loyalty.