I Feel Your Pain, Jensen (Beck)

1997 should have been a memorable year. I was 11 years old, received my first mountain-bike for my birthday, and began 4^th grade at Waynesburg Elementary with Mrs. Suddith and Mr. Snyder as my teachers. In the fall, I assumed the quarterback position on my youth football team, and, though we only won two games, it was one hell of a time.

Plus, that was the year that I attended my very first Major League Baseball game, pitting my hometown Cleveland Indians against the Kansas City Royals. Growing up in Northeast Ohio, the Cleveland Indians were my favorite baseball team – though some of my other favorites aren’t quite so geographically-loyal – and I remember the pain I felt whenever the Indians surrendered to the Atlanta Braves in 6 games of the 1995 World Series, the first World Series the Indians reached since 1954. They were looking to break their 47-year championship drought, but the team that brought the city of Cleveland out of the doldrums couldn’t finish it off. 1996 came and went with another AL Central pennant but no trip into October, and 1997 was time for the Indians to redeem themselves. They won the AL Central crown for the third year in a row, knocked off the New York Yankees in the ALDS and then the Baltimore Orioles in the ALCS, and moved on to the World Series to face the wild-card Florida Marlins.

Though winning 6 less games than the Marlins on the season, the Indians were favored to win the World Series, and everyone in Ohio was pumped. They would avenge the 1995 loss to the Braves, erase the now 49-year championship drought, and get Cleveland back on track. The Marlins won the first game of the World Series, and after that they would trade wins with the Indians until Game 7 in Pro Player Stadium in Miami, Florida. Jaret Wright – of all people – pitched well, his only blunder a home run to Bobby Bonilla in the 7^th inning. Jose Mesa, who led the AL in saves with 46 two years earlier, was brought in to close out the game, but he allowed a single to Moises Alou, a single to Charles Johnson, and then a sacrifice fly to Craig Counsell to knock Alou in and tie the game (which would ignite a feud between himself and shortstop Omar Vizquel that would involve death-threats and planned beanings). In the bottom of the 11^th, with the game still tied 2-2, the Indians brought back in Game 3 starter Charles Nagy. With two outs and the bases loaded, Edgar Renteria at the plate, Nagy pitched a slider, which led to Bob Costas uttering a line that haunts me to this day: “A liner . . . off Nagy’s glove, into center-field! The Florida Marlins have won the WORLD SERIES!”

I cried. Like Adam Morrison after losing in the NCAA tournament. Then again, I was only 11 years old, and Adam Morrison, mullet and trash-stache and all, was a little older, supposedly a little more mature, but as he said in a commercial later, “Yeah I cried.” I’m pretty sure every Indians fan in Ohio and elsewhere also felt the same way (Chandler and D’Attilo, you know you shed a few). Little did I know that at the same time my salty drops streamed from my eyes, so, too, did they from a kid in Cincinnati, Ohio, who admits to wearing an Omar Vizquel jersey to school every day and would later become a relief pitcher for the Cleveland Indians himself.

That’s right, Jensen Lewis, the 24-year old right-hander from the Nasty-Nati, recently admitted at the Indians’ spring training in Arizona that “I was crying at the end of the game.” The admission came while he and his teammates were watching a documentary on the1997 World Series and was reported on ESPN.com. For all of you who don’t know, Jensen Lewis was brought up from the minors in 2007 and converted 13-13 save opportunities as the Indians closer in August and September 2008. Although the Indians signed Kerry Wood in the off-season as the (potential) long-term answer to the Indians’ hole at closer, left open thanks to the pitiful exploits of one Joe Borowski, Jensen should still figure to play a role as a middle-reliever or set-up man in 2009. We know he can pitch, and now we also know that he’s a cry-baby.

But that’s okay, because when asked if he was going to cry again during the documentary, Jensen simply responded, “No, because now I’m in a position to try and change it.” That’s the spirit! We’ll forgive the fact that your first name is “Jensen” – what parent does that to their kid? – and that even though you lived in Cincinnati, went to high school in Cincinnati, you weren't a Reds fan, and that you probably won’t see the mound much with a bullpen featuring the two Rafaels (Perez and Betancourt), Edward Mujica, and Masahide Kobayashi.

All of that aside, I like this kid’s guts. That kind of attitude shows that Jensen’s invested in the Cleveland Indians beyond his meager $393,000 salary and his obligation to the club; he wants the Indians to win a title, and end the now 60-year championship drought, with the same fervor that the fans do because he was a fan first and a player second.

Some might argue that this might cause Jensen to place extra pressure on himself in-game as he tries to strap the team on his back and become its savior, but I think that wanting the team to win for more than your own stats and increasing your chances for a higher pay-day when you become a free agent is the way the game should be played. It all helps build the elusive quality of championship teams that the New York Yankees have refused to acknowledge in their recent budget-busting off-seasons: chemistry. Jensen is adding his own loyalty to the Indians into the mix, and I can only hope that it becomes contagious in the locker room.

Think of it: players who check their stats at the door in order to pursue the only true stat in the entire game, the win-loss record. Maybe every team should try to sign kids who grew up as a fan, because then you know they’re committed specifically to the success of your team rather than themselves as an individual. The Browns have tried it with Brady Quinn, and once we see a full season with him at the helm this fall, I think Brady will continue to prove this theory correct.

Too bad Lebron James can’t root for his hometown team.

- Beck