Why this Guardians season has been deeply meaningful to many fans: ‘I wouldn’t trade it for anything’
Zack Meisel
Oct 6, 2022
CLEVELAND — Before Game 1 of the 2016 World Series, Terry Francona traveled the winding tunnel to the home dugout, where he could take in the crisp, autumn air. He was anxious. Time was ticking too deliberately. There was still an hour until first pitch. But Cleveland’s manager needed to clear his head.
And he wasn’t alone. There was Mike Napoli, leaning against the padded railing, soaking up the nervous energy in the ballpark.
“What are you doing out here?” Francona asked the veteran slugger.
“I’m scared to death,” Napoli said.
“Me too,” replied Francona, despite having two previous trips to the World Series under his belt.
The postseason is impossible to forecast. That’s what makes it so special. That’s what makes it terrifying. In 2016, a limping Cleveland club proved anything can happen. In 2017, a Cleveland juggernaut proved the same thing.
This year, Francona first felt the butterflies surface in his stomach in the ninth inning of Game 162 on Wednesday. The coaches stayed at the ballpark until the late hours to prepare for the Wild Card Series. And Francona said he’ll once again “be scared to death” when he arrives at Progressive Field on Friday morning for the start of another playoff adventure.
He won’t be the only one fending off his emotions. This Guardians season, full of surprises and marked by dramatic, logic-defying triumphs, has been meaningful to many fans for various reasons. To some, it has served as the elixir for personal grief. For others, the root of a treasured family bond.
No one knows what October holds for the Guardians, but many will be watching intently as they tag along on a postseason journey headed toward an unknown destination. Dozens of Cleveland fans shared their personal tales with The Athletic before Friday’s Game 1.
(Submissions have been edited for clarity and length.)
The Guardians celebrate one of many walk-off wins. (David Richard / USA Today)
In mid-August, at the ripe, old age of 27, I had to have emergency open-heart surgery for a torn aorta. The symptoms and surgery came out of nowhere. Only 20 percent of people who have a torn aorta survive. And I did. Maybe age was on my side or somebody was looking down on me. I’ve been able to rest and catch a lot more Guardians baseball than I’m used to. And they have delivered.
I’ve been an underdog for much of my life, and my open-heart surgery is just another example. Seeing this team work its magic, time and time again, gives me that feeling of overcoming the odds.
— Marty
We lost my grandfather last winter. He’s the reason I love the sport and why I’ve been obsessed with Cleveland baseball since I first learned to read box scores. I watched Game 7 with my grandparents in 2016 and I knew that might be our last chance to see Cleveland win a title together.
But there’s something even more special about this year’s squad. They fight back from deficits. They play smart baseball. And you can tell they have fun every single night; their energy is contagious. It’s the type of team my grandpa and I would have loved to talk about every week on the phone. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
— Dale
Cleveland owns the league’s longest World Series title drought, which stretches back nearly three-quarters of a century. When the Cubs and Indians clashed in 2016, a meeting of the two most title-starved franchises in the sport, the hexes were the primary talking point. Ever since the Cubs claimed Game 7, Cleveland has carried the dubious distinction.
But Cleveland’s roster has almost entirely transformed in the ensuing years. Only José Ramírez and a few coaches remain. It’s such a young group, few of the players on the team are even aware of the history that hovers over them.
Austin Hedges knew the Guardians had the longest drought. He guessed 65 years. Shane Bieber knew; he didn’t want to do the math off the top of his head. A quick poll, though, of some of the rookies on the roster revealed they had no idea. It’s a fascinating wrinkle to the mission of a team attempting to break through for the first time since 1948.
It’s become trite to say these young players “don’t know what they don’t know,” but really, what they don’t know, since many are developing on the fly, is what the team’s ceiling can be.
“Every time we go through something,” Francona said, “it’s the first time. It hasn’t held us back. … These guys have been doing it as they’re learning. They’ve done a pretty good job of it.”
But Francona cautioned, after the club clinched the division last month in Texas, that this is more than a feel-good story.
“I’m not sure I buy into where people say, ‘They’re playing with house money,’” Francona said. “When we lose, it hurts every bit as much as it’s ever hurt. I think they deserve more credit than that.”
The Guardians soak it all in after clinching the AL Central. (Jerome Miron / USA Today)
My dad is a lifelong fan and turns 80 in October. He’s just young enough that he doesn’t remember (much about) the 1948 championship. He didn’t have a TV and his dad was a Yankees fan. My dad always said he wanted two things before he died: a Cleveland championship and a grandchild. After years of struggling with fertility issues, my wife and I were able to give my father the grandson he always wanted. Now we just need that championship.
— Shane
My grandmother — who was at one of the 1948 World Series games, still her biggest brag — has been declining, health-wise. We used to go to Opening Day annually for her birthday, but the pandemic ruined that in 2020 and ’21, and this year, her health wouldn’t permit (it). I would love nothing more than for her to see another World Series victory for Cleveland. She loves Josh Naylor and José Ramírez almost as much as she loves her grandkids and great-grandkids.
— Glen
My son was born April 4, a son who my wife and I were told by multiple fertility doctors over the years we could most likely never have. He watched Opening Day three days after he was born, in the arms of my father. He’s too young to process or understand what he’s watching, but I’ve gotten to share this incredible, unlikely run with him. This season means so much because I get to watch an unlikely team overcome the odds with the son I’ve always wanted, who was unlikely and overcame the odds, too.
— Ryan H.
Being an Australian, I’ve had an interesting journey to becoming a Guardians fan. Many moons ago, when I was a young kid, I stumbled on a YouTube video of this guy dunking and thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. That guy was LeBron. Because of this, I decided I would go for the Cavs. In Australia, once you choose a team, you do not change under any circumstance
In 2020, when we went into lockdown in Melbourne, I started watching baseball. Because I was a Cavs fan, naturally I chose Cleveland. Over the course of this year, I’ve become more and more hooked on the team, despite being literally on the other side of the world. The way they play is awesome and is everything about sports that I love.
On Friday morning, Australian time, I’ll be frantically checking my phone every break I get at work to see the score from Game 1. This season is the best, as a fan: No expectations — just pure, youthful joy.
— Matthew
Four years ago, for no other reason than she had a feeling, my daughter predicted Cleveland would win the 2022 World Series. The prediction seemed outlandish last year, but here we are now, ahead of schedule. This season, my daughter and I have gone to several games together. We sit down in the first inning and don’t leave our seats until the game ends. I’ve saved a lot of money by not going for beer runs like I used to. But the time we’ve shared talking about the game and pointing things out to each other has been amazing. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
— Greg
I took some really hard steps this year. I finally started the process of coming out as transgender/non-binary and living as my real self. I left my job, I came out to friends and family, I socially transitioned and I started using my new preferred name and they/them pronouns. I didn’t plan it this way, but I definitely did find it especially meaningful to be “rebranding,” as it were, at the same time as the Guardians. I found a lot of solidarity in that that I really needed. The ballpark is always a place I have felt most like myself, even before coming out. So it made sense that I started truly being out as myself in that place. My baseball friends were some of the first people I came out to.
It’s been really meaningful to me what the Guardians have done this year. (The name change) made a lot of people really angry. And then this team of young kids who didn’t know any better that they weren’t supposed to be good yet just went out and kept winning in incredibly fun and improbable ways, over and over again. Now they get to hopefully keep doing that in the postseason. That mindset has helped give me the courage to do what I’m doing now, to keep going and see it through. It’s a hard choice, one not everyone agrees with, that, in some ways, has made my life harder. But seeing the Guardians not care about those who complained and instead go out and do what they’ve done has helped me keep wanting to be alive every day as my real self. If they can do it, then I can, too.
— Eli
When Francona spoke to the team at the start of spring training, he stressed that to have any chance to make some noise, the players needed to thrive on the bases, avoid lapses on defense and capitalize on the opponents’ miscues. He implored Ramírez and Amed Rosario to set the proper example for the roster full of toddlers.
The result has been a refreshing brand of baseball, centered on contact and hustle. No play better summarizes the Guardians’ style than when they scored twice on a routine bouncer to third base two weeks ago in Texas on the day they clinched the AL Central. Francona said he’s proud of how the team, which has seen a franchise-record 17 players make their major-league debut this season, has bought into the strategy.
“I think our team is easy to like,” Francona said. “They’re good kids.”
Related: Cleveland’s mad dashes from first to third vaulted them into first
My 8-year-old daughter and 6-year-old son are really getting into baseball this year. This team has been perfect for that. The team has such a fun combination of youth, talent and personality and they play in a way that makes it easy to teach baseball to my kids. They hustle, run the bases, play defense and put the ball in play. Almost every day, we’re in the backyard, with the kids pretending to be Steven Kwan, José Ramírez, Oscar Gonzalez and so many others. Every morning before school, I hear, “Dad, don’t forget to put on the Guards highlights.” My son is going as Andrés Giménez for Halloween. We had sparkling juice when the Guardians clinched the division and the first comment came from my daughter, who said she felt bad that Franmil Reyes couldn’t be there. This team is so easy to connect with. You can just feel how much fun they’re having.
— Rich
Andrés Giménez signs an autograph for a fan. (Ken Blaze / USA Today)
We lost my grandfather last year due to a long battle with COVID-19. There haven’t been bright spots or much to celebrate. Following this Guardians team has been a source of joy for my dad and me. In the first game of that September series in Chicago, my dad and I were trading texts about every other at-bat. We laughed about how my grandfather would have absolutely lost it when Amed Rosario was called out at home, clearly a blown call that could have been season-altering. It didn’t end up mattering, because this group did what it does: grind out at-bat after at-bat and string together hits in extra innings to come away with a win, an eventual sweep and, ultimately, six in a row to clinch the AL Central. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t shed some tears of joy watching those guys celebrate in the locker room.
— Ryan L.
I fell in love with the Cleveland ballclub during the ’95 season. I would watch games with my dad and fall asleep to the radio broadcasts with Tom Hamilton and Herb Score. Cleveland baseball is probably the first thing I truly cared about. I have a tattoo of Omar Vizquel sitting alone in the dugout after Game 7 of the ’97 series. I fell asleep during that game. When I woke up the next day, my dad showed me the paper, with the Omar photo, and I broke down crying. It always stuck with me.
The tattoo is a mashup of a couple of my favorite things: Cleveland baseball and the art of Raymond Pettibon, a legendary punk rock artist. I took the text from a Pettibon painting: “Life is a misery, and I do not know when death may come. ‘Play ball!’”
I’ve embraced all the emotions that come with sports fandom in my 30ish years of rooting for this club. I don’t know what the playoffs hold, but the season is already one for the books, as far as I’m concerned.
— Nicholas
I can’t even begin to tell you the emotions that would overcome me if the Guardians make a deep playoff run and somehow secure a World Series championship. I lost my father on June 2. Some of my first recollections of baseball are sitting on the couch with him and watching the ’95 World Series. The last game we went to together was in 2013, when (Cleveland was) playing the White Sox and Jason Giambi sent us home with a walk-off win. He called me out of the blue to go to a game; it was so out of character for him, but is in the top five moments of my life.
We discussed the 2022 team a lot in his final days. We knew they had this “death by a thousand cuts” approach and could annoy teams and somehow walk away winners. We talked about the fire of Josh Naylor, the relentless approach of Steven Kwan and the absolute swag that José Ramírez carries. He loved the precision of Shane Bieber, the stature of Triston McKenzie and the passion of Cal Quantrill. While I’ve never met any of these guys, the joy they have brought me this year, specifically over the last four months, is something I can’t really put into words. But, I know if they win the last game of the season, the only person I’ll be thinking about is my father, Jay. At only 60, he never got to see a Cleveland baseball championship. This would feel like his going-away present to me to share with my family forever.
— Jaycob
There’s a mystique surrounding a team that exceeds expectations, that arrives early, that makes skeptics look foolish. The Guardians have savored the opportunity to play that role.
Few, if any, prognosticators penciled them into the top spot in the AL Central in the spring. Few foresaw Steven Kwan, Andrés Giménez or Oscar Gonzalez contributing in such profound fashion. The Guardians tallied a league-high 29 victories in their final at-bat, surpassing the vaunted 1995 team for the most in franchise history. They enter the playoffs on the heels of a frantic, 24-6 finish to the regular season, which cemented them as one of the league’s top surprises.
“I don’t think very many of us care what anyone has to say, media included,” Cal Quantrill said. “We are a team. We’re excited to see each other every day. We show up, we have energy, we play for a manager we believe in. We play for a team and a city we believe in. It’s just a bonus that we happen to prove people wrong. This is how we felt when the season started. It’s been the same approach all year long. The fact people are just realizing we’re a good team now has played to our advantage.”
This year means a lot to me because it’s another reason to smirk next year when people will be counting out Cleveland again. We are used to our guys being overlooked. It’s a Cleveland thing. But these are the Guardiac Kids. And they’re ready to introduce themselves.
— Ryan R.
My grandmother, Maria, immigrated to the U.S. in 1957 from Bitola, Macedonia, with her aunt to create a better life for herself. She didn’t speak English, but she fell in love with Cleveland baseball. She married my grandfather and moved to Mansfield and never missed a game on TV. She passed on her love of baseball to my brother and me. We both played collegiate baseball. We would sit and watch games with her during every visit. My favorites: Game 7 of the 2016 World Series, listening to her scream when Rajai Davis hit that home run, and when I took her to a game in 2016 and we watched Mike Napoli hit a ball toward the scoreboard against the Yankees.
My grandmother passed away on Sept. 29. She was a wonderful woman and is missed by so many. We sat with her on her last night as Trevor Stephan struck out the last batter with the bases loaded to end the game against the Rays.
Whether this Guardians team makes it to the World Series or loses in the wild-card round, getting to watch baseball in October in Cleveland is going to be emotional for all of us, but we’re leaning on them to get us through.
— Aaron
My love for Tom Hamilton and the old-school radio comes from my grandma, who faithfully listened to every game in her Kent home or from Florida when clear nights allowed her to pick up WTAM 1100 during the early-season games. She would even make us mute the TV to listen to Hamilton, despite the audio and video being out of sync. But she didn’t care, as long as we could hear “A SWING AND A DRIVE!”
On Aug. 3, my grandma passed at 97 years old. She lost her husband at 40 with three young boys to raise, so it always felt to me like she was the stuff of legends and would live forever. She does live on forever in my unwavering and unfulfilling loyalty to the Cleveland Guardians.
A few times a year, my grandma would come visit us in Richmond, Va. On this specific trip in August 2001, Cleveland hosted the Sunday Night Baseball game against the Mariners. We all watched what ended up being an absolute drubbing in the first few innings. After three, Seattle led Cleveland, 12-0.
The rest of my family went back to whatever routine was happening 21 years ago. However, I, in my infinite wisdom, had recently bought an open-boxed TV on sale from Best Buy with my lawn-mowing money, so I kept the game on with the volume extremely low in my bedroom as I naively hoped for a Cleveland win.
Eventually, Cleveland pulled it out, 15-14, in what is one of the most improbable comebacks in MLB history. After Cleveland tied it in the bottom of the ninth, I remember sneaking out of my room at what had to have been close to midnight to wake my grandma up to make sure she wouldn’t miss the comeback. Much to my surprise, my grandma was sitting on the edge of her bed listening to her Walkman radio tuned to 1100 with Hamilton announcing that the game would go to extra innings. At 76 years old, my grandma had “gone to bed” and listened to a shellacking of Cleveland for three more hours because the game wasn’t over.
I share all of this because it meant the world to me that night that my grandma was still awake. I struggle to put into words why it mattered so much to me, but she was tuned in, unwavering in her fandom, and confident that a miracle was not only possible but in her mind probably even likely. Maybe that’s what happens when your partner is taken from you way too early in life, or maybe that’s the magic of an eternal optimist creating space for miracles to occur. Either way, my grandma was not turning that game off until the last out was recorded and Cleveland was defeated. She was rooting for the impossible and the unlikely, and the next day, she was going to turn on the game and listen to Tom Hamilton again, regardless of the outcome.
In the days and weeks following my grandma’s passing, I have found the routine and familiar sounds of baseball at the corner of Carnegie and Ontario to be cathartic. In a lot of ways, a prolonged postseason run would only further extend the celebration of 97 years well-lived for an exceptional fan, and I know regardless of who hoists the trophy in November, my grandma will never forgive Jose Mesa.
— Robbie
Amed Rosario hugs Josh Naylor after Naylor’s slam against the White Sox in May. (Matt Marton / USA Today)
My parents have had season tickets since the early ’90s, and my brother, Andrew, took them over this past year, along with my other brother. He couldn’t bear to give up our tickets and talked my brother into keeping them in the family. I live in Chicago, or I would’ve happily gone in on them. Andrew truly loved going to the games — the atmosphere, getting too many hot dogs and overpriced beer, and he especially enjoyed heckling the visiting team from our seats a few rows back of the visitors dugout. He loved to boo so loudly every time a pitcher checked a runner, and he loved even more targeting one random player on every team who batted low in the order to heckle for no reason. It was his bit and he was quite good at it.
Some of my fondest memories are attending Guardians games with my family over the years, watching extra innings and walk-offs, but most importantly, attending Game 1 of the 2016 World Series with my three siblings.
Andrew unexpectedly passed away in May at 28. It’s been devastating for my family, and the tickets he was so excited to hold onto felt like a burden. I couldn’t go to the games and I had no interest in watching the Guardians, which didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, since they were under .500 and no one expected much.
The night of my brother’s funeral was when the Guardians had that crazy comeback against the White Sox. Josh Naylor hit a grand slam in the ninth and we ended up winning it in extra innings.
It’s silly, but it felt like a sign.
I so wish my brother was here to watch this playoff run. He would have been so happy. I know he would be attending at least one of the upcoming games. He wouldn’t have missed it for anything. He would have loved the rookies and been the biggest fan of this unexpected Cinderella season.
Regardless of how far the Guardians make it, I will always remember this season. I’m not going to lie: I think, in some ways, it will be more upsetting if we somehow win it all and Andrew isn’t here to enjoy it. But I also know how special it would make this season and this connection to my brother. I will be cherishing these upcoming games. This season feels tied to my brother’s memory.
— Beth