Back at school, there was an acquaintance of mine named Cristina. She was bright, she was motivated, she was sunny, she was attractive, she was successful, she was warm, she was approachable, she was compassionate - in short, she was as close to being flawless as any person I've ever met. Got along with pretty much everyone on campus. There was really no good reason not to like her, yet whenever I entertained the notion of getting to know her better, I was overruled by a little part of my brain that found her to be annoying and mildly unpleasant.
For the longest time, I was never able to figure out why my mind worked that way, why part of me was consciously resisting something with so much appeal and so little downside. I would literally sit there and tell my brain what to think, but it would ignore me and continue raising its mysterious objections, objections which for months and months I never quite understood.
Then the Rockies happened.
Somewhere between going on an unprecedented run, sneaking into the playoffs, and blowing through their first two October opponents, the Rockies became America's sweetheart. I can't remember there ever being a better story in the big leagues, at least not in my lifetime. Every single one of the cliched, traditional components is there to make this a season for the ages, the kind of thing that'll eventually be memorialized in the baseball equivalent of Hoosiers or Miracle. Perennial doormat. Blue-collar manager eager for a second chance after a disappointing playing history. Roster full of unknowns and retread veterans without a big-name superstar. Inspirational leader dying to finally see October. Small(er)-market setting. Loyal fan base. Polite, humble team attitude. Complete surprise. Constant dramatics. Within the past month of Colorado baseball you can find elements of every uplifting sports movie ever made. It is, as of this moment, the perfect story.
Yet, as much as I want to like the Rockies and root for them to take the Series, something's stopping me from jumping headfirst onto the bandwagon. I tell myself "don't be silly, there's no reason to root against them," but it's to no avail. My brain just won't let me really get swept up like pretty much everyone else in the country already has.
Only recently did I figure out what the problem is. It took a little work and a lot of thought, but what I eventually came up with is that the Rockies, like Cristina, are too perfect. Unreasonably perfect. Excessively perfect. The reason part of my brain won't let me like Cristina or the Rockies is that there's nothing not to like about them. I guess I have an inherent craving for flaws that these two parties just can't provide. In order for me to like them, they'd need to be less likable.
Maybe I can't really explain this well in writing. Or maybe I am explaining it well and you actually feel the same way. I dunno. But you know how for a few weeks in September we couldn't stop making fun of The Final Season? It's the same kind of thing. Both great stories, but both perfect to a fault. There was a time when I would've been blown away by that kind of Cinderella story, but I've been so inundated by inspirational messages that I've reached the point at which I need something different. Regardless of how "real" it actually is, this Rockies thing basically feels too scripted and formulaic. It obviously isn't - we're not talking about the NBA, after all - but that's how it feels, and seeing Colorado take the Series wouldn't exactly serve to change the appearance. I imagine that small but opinionated part of my brain would find this to be a better story if the Rockies go on to lose in heartbreaking fashion.
I'm not sure why my head works this way, but it does, so unless something drastic happens over the coming week that makes the Rockies a little less universally appealing (anyone seen Denny Neagle's prostitute?), I don't think I'll be able to grant them my undivided support. There's just no convincing that little contrarian part of my brain to jump on board as long as they're living this fairytale.
Unless they play Boston.
Evil changes everything.