Few people have heard
of John Adams, but for
the people of Cleveland,
he is the ultimate fan.
For over 3,700 games,
starting in 1973, he
would carry his big bass drum,
sit in the bleachers, and
bang out a booming beat
with a mallet in each hand.
In an age when million-dollar athletes
want even more, how refdreshing
to hear of a man so loyal and devoted.
How admirable to meet a fan
following his passion, rooting
for the home team, even if that team
was terrible, as the Indians were.
The Bradys and the Irvings of the
sports world should heed the example
of this simple man with his simple fervor.
John Adams died this week.
Not many will remember his name,
least of all the money-hungry athletes
we mistakenly put on pedestals,
hanging on their every word.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME