For a fan base that fancies itself the carriers of the You Gotta Believe legacy, we are making me sick.
You gotta believe in something better than the infinitesimal lesser of two enormous evils.
You gotta believe, if only for another night, in the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.
The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim still have their wings. They play tonight. They need our support. I'd given up on them in defense against onrushing disappointment, but I now realize I was too early and that it is not too late.
Prepare yourself. You know it's a must. Gotta have a friend in Aybar, in Figgins, in Lackey. Gotta line up on the side of the Angels. For you, it's a matter of contingency. For me, it's a matter of faith.
In the summer of 2002, my cat Casey died. I was miserable. He became, for the next several months, my spirit in the sky…my angel, if you will. I communicated with him there as best I could. He may not have been in a position to listen, but I had faith he was up there somewhere. Come October, after we found the strength to give Casey's brother Bernie a new companion named Hozzie, Stephanie and I and our cats discovered together the Anaheim Angels. The Anaheim Avenging Angels. The Angels avenged four consecutive horrible Octobers by clipping the wings off the Yankees in only four American League Division Series games. We all felt good about them.
The Angels made the World Series. I watched as they lined up for Game One in Anaheim. Maybe they'd been doing this all year or maybe it was just something they picked up for the occasion, but their stadium public address system played, in a loop, the introduction to “Spirit In The Sky” by Norman Greenbaum, the song I had quietly dedicated to Casey after he ascended to wherever he ascended.
That's why the Angels are my favorite American League team. That's why I was thrilled all out of proportion when they won the 2002 World Series. That's why I will not give up on them just yet.
You gotta believe in something. Believe in the Angels. Believe in them tonight.