Rangers crushed hearts of fans like me for years — then totally redeemed themselves | Opinion

In May 1987, an almost 11-year-old kid approached the rickety stadium in Arlington where the Texas Rangers played.

He’d never watched much baseball, so he didn’t know it was one of the worst stadiums in the majors. He didn’t know the Rangers were a sad-sack franchise, so bad that a book on its early years in Arlington was titled “Seasons in Hell.”

He sat in the bleachers and mercilessly heckled Detroit Tigers outfielder Pat Sheridan when he made an error.

You get ice cream in a plastic mini-helmet, and you can yell at adults you don’t know? The Rangers lost, 6-3, but I was hooked — on the team and the sport alike.

Rubén Sierra. Steve Buechele. Pete Incaviglia.

It wasn’t a good team — last place in the American League West — but you never forget your first.

By 1989, we thought we had the real deal. The Rangers went big and bold in free agency and trades (sound familiar?) and for once had a roster that merited notice.

Julio Franco. Rafael Palmeiro. Nolan Ryan.

They were good enough early on to make the cover of Sports Illustrated but limped to a fourth-place finish.

But it helped gin up support to build the Rangers a proper home, a baseball palace even. In the days before awkward corporate names on stadiums, it was just The Ballpark in Arlington — at first ridiculous but soon reverent.

Within a couple years, the Rangers were division champs, a team with young, home-grown stars you could love.

Juan Gonzalez. Rusty Greer. Will “The Thrill” Clark. Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez.

We thought they would be a dynasty. Instead, they ran into a real one, the late 1990s Yankees of Derek Jeter and Co.

Fast forward a decade, and suddenly, the dreams were real. After years of misery and even bankruptcy, the Rangers emerged and even conquered the Yankees.

Josh Hamilton. Elvis Andrus. Michael Young. Neftali Feliz.

When they finally made a World Series run in 2010, I was recovering from hip replacement surgery and my mother stayed with me for weeks in Dallas. Memories of watching every game together meant that we won, even if the Rangers didn’t.

In 2011, they were the team to beat. And here came a test — in that summer of 1987, as I devoured everything I could about baseball, I came across a team that was different. It played with daring speed and sharp defense. I became a St. Louis Cardinals fan.

Hey, look — in the days when American League and National League teams met only in the World Series, it was easy enough to be loyal to two franchises, especially when you never really had to expect one would win anything.

Until 2011. I couldn’t lose either way, but I had to go with the Cardinals. I was glad they won, but not in the heartbreaking, cruel fashion that had Rangers fans shuddering for a decade at the names of David Freese, who got the improbable hit to tie Game 6 and another to win it, and Nelson Cruz, who dropped the out that could have won the series.

With that loss and the tough years that followed, it felt like the curse suffocating the Rangers was permanent. It’s been hard to be a Rangers fan — kind of like the Cubs in all their decades of losing, but with the searing Texas heat instead of the pleasant Wrigley Field summers.

The 2023 Rangers were destined to be improved, even competitive for the playoffs. When their expensive star pitcher, Jacob DeGrom, blew out his elbow, it felt like the most Rangers thing ever.

When they lost the division on the final day, no one expected this.

When they had to play on the road for a week before finally getting a home game in their new, domed ballpark, no one expected this.

When they nearly collapsed against the hated Houston Astros, no one expected this.

It wasn’t until their blowout win in Game 4 of the World Series, really, that anyone felt it was safe to expect this.

And that makes it all the sweeter. Nelson Cruz is absolved. David Freese no longer haunts the Rangers.

That kid from 1987 has the best of both worlds: memorable championship runs from two different decades.

And he can finally say: Sorry, Mr. Sheridan. You really didn’t deserve all that booing. But thanks for setting me on the path to baseball heaven.