Among the pressing concerns of the scattered and varied population of South Florida is where to hold the victory parade for the world-champion Marlins, an additional concern being that wherever it is, it not interfere with the early-bird special.
The little matters of Game 6 and the Cleveland Indians would have to be taken care of first, but with Marlins ace Kevin Brown pitching, 67,498 fresh friends ready to celebrate and the Chicago Bears and Miami Dolphins in the on-deck circle, for the Marlins not to win Saturday night would be just too inconvenient for everybody.
Besides, with Game 7 in their pocket, the Marlins were playing with house money, and plans had to be made, even though the Marlins bollixed up plans by losing 4-1 in Game 6.
Should the victory celebration be in Miami, and if so, where? Down Biscayne Boulevard, along the Orange Bowl route? Over on Calle Ocho, in the heart of Little Havana? Through funky Coconut Grove, down South Beach past the Gianni Versace memorial?
In Ft. Lauderdale, home of the owner, Wayne Huizenga, and headquarters of his empire, and the self-proclaimed “Venice of America,” though, according to my map, the Venice of America is in California, and I have yet to see a single gondola floating on New River?
In Palm Beach, or as they say around here, the Palm Beaches, there being more than the one, where Marlins fever has not reached into civic checkbooks?
An area not quite sure it had a baseball team until a month ago could be excused for not knowing exactly where and how to applaud.
The Florida Marlins are not only geographically overstated, but municipally ambiguous.
As Gertrude Stein once said about Oakland, “There is no there there,” though there is plenty of here here. In fact, the problem is, it is everywhere.
Finding Main Street around here is harder than finding autumn.
Just whose team is this, anyhow?
Judging by flags displayed around Pro Player Stadium, it would seem to be more South America’s team than Florida’s, there being more Cuban flags than any other, but with impressive representation from Colombia, the Dominican Republic and Blockbuster.
A Series title is imagined to draw all of this together, to give all the diverse and incompatible elements of the area a shared distinction of excellence. Of course, we heard the same thing about Sarajevo during the Winter Olympics.
From the retiree in the white belt and black socks to the pool guy in the tank top and flip-flops to the mall shopper in curlers and sunblock, all the random and recent fans of baseball would have a common memory.
“Everybody goes to work happier,” Florida manager Jim Leyland said. “I think the bosses all around town feel they get better production, everybody is in good spirits, everybody is in a great frame of mind, everybody loves one another.”
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Reports are that the Series has unified the separated Cubas, in any case, giving those in Cuba and those in the United States a shared hero in Livan Hernandez.
“Baseball is the magic making the connection between the Cubans in exile and the Cubans on the island,” Spanish-language broadcaster Manolo Alvarez said.
Not that it wouldn’t do the same thing for Cleveland, but drawing together Chagrin Falls and Parma is not the same thing. And the Indians’ faithful have suffered together longer than South Floridians have known each other.
The Cleveland Free Clinic has set up a phone service to relieve stress caused by the Series, a Togetherness Hotline. It received some 50 calls after the Indians lost two of three at home.
No such service is needed here. Stress in South Florida is no lime Jell-O at Morrison’s.