‘Down goes Anderson!’ and its grip on Clevelanders: Off the Beat 2

The butterfly effect is a weird phenomenon that I think about from time to time. Do the decisions, however minor, I make today affect what happens to me years from now? Which cigarette is the one that kills me? Is it the first one I smoked, or the last one I smoked before the doctor tells me that I don’t need to quit anymore because it’s too late? I think about this more times than I’d like to admit. Something happens, then I immediately think, “Well, if only I had done such and such differently, then maybe I wouldn’t have hit that man with my car.”

Are we who we are today because of the decisions we have made? Could it also be equally true that we could be who we are today because of the decisions someone else made independently of us?

Who can say? All I know is that on Aug. 5, 2023, the Cleveland Guardians played the Chicago White Sox in the second game of a three-game set. Neither team was particularly good that year. Going into the game, the White Sox were anchored to last place in the division, and the Guardians were 3.5 games back of the Twins, on a trajectory that would eventually see them finish in third place and miss the playoffs entirely.

The White Sox dominated the entire game, though. Michael Kopech had pitched six innings of shutout baseball, and the score was 5–0 by the bottom of the 6th.

Then, José Ramírez steps to the plate.

Kopech throws a 4-seam fastball that misses high to start the count 1–0. Then he challenges José right down the middle for a called strike to even things up. Kopech pulls the string early to put Hosey off balance with an 86 MPH changeup that he fouls off to put the count at 1–2. A slider misses low to even up the count. The next pitch is another fastball that Ramírez fouls away to stay alive.

And this is where things get interesting. Detractors would say that baseball is uninteresting. A pastime that belongs to the previous century that doesn’t speak to people today. But those of us who understand and appreciate the game know that baseball awards patience. You will see something truly spectacular if you give it time, let the magic brew.

Now, at this point, Kopech could have thrown any pitch he wanted. 

He could have thrown another fastball down the middle to challenge Hosey. Maybe he takes it deep, maybe he swings and misses for the strikeout. 

Or, he could have thrown another slider to try to force a groundout. That is the beauty of baseball. There are an infinite number of permutations that can occur at any given moment. It is a thinking person’s sport. An infinite number of permutations, but only one outcome, based on a single decision.

Kopech decides to throw a changeup. Hosey makes him pay by ripping it down the right-field line to end the shutout. Andrés Giménez, who had hit a double earlier in the inning for the Guardians, leaves second and has a clear path home to get a run on the board, and as Hosey is rounding first, White Sox right fielder Oscar Colás throws the ball to two-time All-Star second baseman Tim Anderson, trying to beat Ramírez. Ramírez slides headfirst into second base, and Tim Anderson lays down the tag.

Hosey is called safe.

Now, what was about to unfold is one of those moments where baseball rewards your patience.

Ramírez takes umbrage with how hard Anderson tagged him. Now, Anderson had a reputation around the league for his aggressive style of play and José got tired of it. He gets up and starts chirping at Anderson. Anderson starts chirping back. Then, Anderson throws down his glove, the two square up and fists start flying.

For a second, it looked like Tim Anderson was getting the better of Ramírez. I mean, in a baseball kind of way. Neither man is a trained combatant, and their form was sloppy at best. Tim Anderson had a clear size and reach advantage, but Hosey got low, and didn’t allow himself to be an easy target. 

Here’s the thing about fighting. It’s always the punch you don’t see coming that floors you.

BANG!

Hosey throws a wild right hand that started all the way back in the clubhouse, traveled across the diamond and right into Anderson’s face, answering the immortal question of what happens when an unstoppable force meets a regular man’s jaw.

“DOWN GOES ANDERSON! DOWN GOES ANDERSON!!!”

I can still hear Hammy’s call. Tom Hamilton, whose voice I will always hear in the back of my head for the rest of my life, captured the bedlam of the moment in the way only a master storyteller can as Tim Anderson went to the ground and José Ramírez went into the pantheon of greatest athletes in the history of this city.

Now, I watch that video a few times a year, and each time I see it, it scratches a primal itch for violence I crave every now and then. Why do I go back and watch that video so often? Why is it, that even though through the last decade, I’ve experienced a World Series run, a Cavs title, two Browns playoff appearances, a Calder cup, and a World Heavyweight Champion who legitimately knows how to fight, do I go back and watch this video of two dudes squaring up at a baseball game?

I’ve watched this more than I’ve watched LeBron’s block. It is not technically not even a sports highlight, because it has nothing to do with sports, but then again …

It has everything to do with baseball. Unwritten rules, grudges, superstitions and grown men playing a kid’s game acting like kids in front of a whole bunch of people. That is baseball.

I had the pleasure of hanging out with my friend and local artist Aaron “Okpants” Sechrist at Easy Out in Lakewood to talk about the moment and the mural he created on the back patio, dedicated to it. We sat right in front of it, surrounded by people who were enjoying the night out. In the corner, I saw a woman looking at it with admiration as the person she was with explained the story behind the art. “That’s awesome,” I saw her mutter as she turned and continued with her drink.

“That’s so cool,” said Pants as I pointed that conversation out to him. “That’s part of what this is all about,” he said as we talked about Cleveland sports fandom and why this moment resonated with us so much.

“You don’t get a lot of wins in this city. I love my parents, but the worst thing they could have possibly done is give birth to me in this region and make me a Cleveland sports fan.”

I know exactly what he means. It’s a hereditary weight that I won’t expound upon because there’s been a million pieces written about the heartache and misery that comes with being a sports fan in this region. But LeBron should have ended it. 10 years ago, all I heard was that he slayed the dragon. The curse is no more. It was supposed to die in Game 7 on Golden State’s floor. Why is it that even after experiencing the glory of a championship, does it feel like the curse is still alive? 

“Because it’s an inferiority complex,” Pants was quick to point out to me, and he’s right. Sports just matter more here, and if there is one thing I can say about us as fans, there is no one in the country that loses less gracefully than we do, and to me, that is a source of civic pride. Even though losing is a part of life, that doesn’t make it acceptable. It’s okay to be angry about it, especially when you are exposed to it over and over again, especially when, sometimes, there is no reason for it to have even happened in the first place.

“It’s like the movie ‘Sleepers,’” Okpants says to me. “You know, when the kids beat the CO’s in that football game, only to have to go back to their cells to continue to be abused over and over? That’s what being a fan of sports in this town is like. But, every now and then, you get a win,” he said as we looked at the mural. “And that was one of them.”

As I took in the art next to its creator, I realized that our fandom isn’t about losing, not entirely; it’s about defiance. The idea that we would continue to love something even though it has broken us down a million times, not out of loyalty, but out of spite, is something that I never quite understood until I sat with Pants. It’s hard to love something that has broken your heart publicly this many times, but it seems that we do it because it’s the hard thing to do, and that’s why we love José Ramírez so much. He could have taken more money to leave, A LOT more money to leave, but he stayed. Even though it could have been easier for him to leave, and no one would have held it against him. 

But he stayed for less and shows up for 162 games a year, giving everything to the game. That’s why him punching Tim Anderson in the face is so iconic. Not because it glorifies violence, but because, for a second, Hosey exemplified that defiant Cleveland feeling and Okpants captured its electricity in a way a camera couldn’t. A camera can capture what something looks like, but it takes a real artist to take the raw materials of a moment and truly capture what something feels like.

The Guardians lost that game 7-4, but it doesn’t matter. The outcome was of no consequence, other than the fact that now, José Ramírez is with 100% certainty going to Cooperstown one day, and Tim Anderson is floating around the minors somewhere. Now, it wouldn’t be fair to say that this moment is what sealed their fates. Tim Anderson’s career just went the way it did, and José Ramírez went on to not only be the all-time franchise leader in games played, but no other person has played more games as a Cleveland athlete in any sport. He is Cleveland sports.

The “Down Goes Anderson!” moment does, however, serve as a reminder to respect the rules of the game, be they written or unwritten, to be stubborn, and to show up ready to play, and that reminder is tattooed to a wall. 

All because Kopech decided to throw a changeup.