Guilty Conscience

A few weeks ago, I wrote about my conflicting interest in two of the teams that would be competing in the World Baseball Classic. Realistically, I didn't think it would be a big deal. The Dominican Republic is extremely talented and powerful; the Netherlands is an underdog - and before the Classic began even that seemed like a bit of an overstatement.

In game 1, I rooted for the Netherlands, knowing that even if they lost I would be happy in the DR win, or amused by the upset. But amusement was hardly the feeling; it was a mix of shock, excitement and awe.

And then Oranje did it again in the second game against Puerto Rico - barely losing at the last minute, but holding the lead most of the game and staying competitive all the way through.

So last night, in the elimination game between the NL and the DR, I had no idea who to root for. I have strong emotional attachments to both countries, and very dear friends in both. I understand both of these countries and their people - not as a native, perhaps, but as much more than a mere tourist. There was no way it could end well.

During the game I found myself rooting for whoever was pitching. I was rooting for Jimenez to set the new strikeout record, and he did. I was rooting for Pedro to pitch really well and keep the Netherlands off the bases. But whenever the Dominicans got a hit, it felt like they were the opponents. And it was the same way with the Netherlands - I wanted Stuifbergen to get out of the jam in the 4th inning but I was pleased to see them getting blanked by the DR for so many innings.

And it continued that way, until, in the 8th inning or so, with Jimenez and Pedro in the dugout, and Big Papi taken out for a defensive replacement, I realized I not only wanted the Dutch pitchers to hold the Dominicans at bay, but I wanted the batters to get on base and start producing runs.

I was veering towards the Netherlands.

The stress and intensity of the extra innings and that unbelievable Hollywood ending sealed the deal for me, and by the end I was for the Dutch, through and through. They deserved it; they weren't the ones falling apart in the end with sloppy pitching and fielding. No, that was the Dominicans.

Fast forward to this morning, when I wake up and look around my room and notice the oppressive presence of a large map of the Dominican Republic on one wall, the national flag on another. Pedro Martinez, Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz glare at me from their glossy photos above the door. And on the wall next to my bed, a 1996 baseball card of the young and talented Pedro Martinez, still on the Expos, reminds me how indebted I feel to him.

I'm so thrilled for the Netherlands, and I shiver when I think of the game or watch the highlights reel online. But when I look up at the Dominican flag, or a song that expresses the atmosphere of the DR comes on my iPod's shuffle, I can't help feeling just a wee bit guilty and ungrateful.