The Rev. Rebecca Crummey became a Blue Jays fan when she moved to Toronto in the early ’90s and, lo and behold, they won consecutive World Series titles in 1992 and ’93.
She came to Denver in 2003, and in the blink of an eye, the canon at St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral was transformed into a devout Rockies fan.
Now the team has stunned the baseball establishment by emerging from its dark night of media purgatory and riding a preternatural winning streak into the World Series.
Coincidence?
In the Church of Baseball, there is no such thing.
Believers see Jesus in every curve ball, visions of hell in every error and endless potential for redemption – even for a team that’s behind by four games near the end of the season.
Crummey doesn’t pray for Rockies victories – at least not in the traditional sense – but she’s not above an occasional meditation on the glories of a miraculous strikeout or a simply divine double play with bases loaded and one out in the top of the ninth.
“I don’t say, ‘Dear God, help the Rockies win,”‘ she said, “or, well, I don’t know. Maybe I do sometimes.”
Much has been written about the religious fervor of players in the Rockies dugout. Some of them point to the sky when they hit a home run. Some praise God on ESPN.
Then there are those who may not be big on the Bible but have their own particular game-day sacraments just the same. They tap home plate with the bat before settling into the batter’s box, spit on their hands, step on second base on the way to the outfield, always wear their lucky underwear and never, ever step on a foul line on their way on or off the field.
It’s baseball metaphysics, and to believers, it’s sacrosanct.
The Rev. Crummey thinks that’s all fine, though she’s not about to preach that the reason the Rockies have been winning is because their black uniform shirts are lucky or they have God on their side.
“That makes me uncomfortable,” she said. “Much as I’d like to believe that God wanted the Rockies to win this series, I’m not convinced.”
After all, a lot of folks think God is an Indians fan, and since anybody who knew Cleveland in the ’70s believes he has witnessed a resurrection firsthand, there’s no sense arguing.
The high-profile effort to sign God onto ball teams everywhere has been downright remarkable in recent years.
Sure, it may just be the latest in clever sports marketing, but in the post-9/11 era, Major League Baseball has decided it’s imperative to lead fans in the singing of “God Bless America” during the seventh- inning stretch.
During my childhood, that sacred tradition was reserved for the ritual singing of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” while waiting in the beer lines and, like when we recited our Hail Marys and Our Fathers for penance, we were expected to know the words by heart.
Now the scoreboard becomes a giant karaoke screen, and baseball fans are encouraged to sing along in a mass expression of belief in God and appreciation for peanuts and Cracker Jack.
Now I hate to sound like a doubter, but many in the park seem to be mere postseason converts.
Like those who only found their way to the stadium during the playoffs and don’t know a Tulo from a Kaz, folks who may not have been to church in a while find piety awfully convenient at the ballpark thanks to the JumboTron.
The Rev. Crummey accepts these born-agains with grace, but as a lifelong baseball fan and a woman of the cloth, her devotion is pure.
She knows the words to both songs by heart.
And, in case it might become necessary, she admits to giving her blessing to old-fashioned baseball superstition.
“My friend hasn’t shaved since the end of the season,” she said, “and he’s wearing the same shirt he wore to the last two games.”
Meanwhile, she said, the Rockies haven’t lost any of the games she’s attended this season, and even though she was in Ethiopia during the series with the Diamondbacks, she tried to be there in spirit by following the games religiously online.
All I can say is hallelujah.
It worked.
Diane Carman’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. Reach her at 303-954-1489 or dcarman@denverpost.com.
