It Would Have Been Less Painful For Nationals To Just Keep Losing

Since he was 15, my son has had a problem with the truth. Three times last year, he came home in the wee hours of the morning with some of the worst excuses a teenager ever concocted.

But a few months ago, he came to me in tears, apologized for his errant ways, and for several weeks, he was honest, forthright, decent and loving towards his family.

But, a month ago, things returned to normal and the stories, and the arrogance, and his condescending manner came back with a vengeance.

I wish I had never seen this good side; it makes the darkness and the deceit even more painful to live through.

A few weeks ago, the Washington Nationals were toddling along at a pace that made them the ugly stepchild of the ’62 Mets. They weren’t going to lose 120 games, but they were going to come close.

And so Nationals fans didn’t pay much attention to the scores or the results of the games. That would be like opening your washing machine in mid-cycle to see if the clothes are wet. I mean, in both cases, the answer is obvious.

Fans would peruse the box score to see if Adam Dunn hit a homer, or if Nyjer Morgan stole a base, or if Ryan Zimmermann air mailed another throw into the first base stands.

But we never checked the score. It hurt too much.

But then the Nationals started to win. A couple games in Milwaukee gave them a short four-game win streak. They split with the Pirates in Pittsburgh before sweeping the Florida Marlins and the Arizona Diamondbacks.

Eight in a row and fourteen out of twenty. Wow.

It turns out that wins are like food for the sporting soul.

Who knew? Certainly not Nationals fans. We have never experienced it.

Bolstered by this sudden streak of unbridled mediocrity, Nats’ fans once again began to enjoy timely hitting, long home runs and efficient pitching.

Each win was like taking an “upper,” raising the blood pressure, causing the sweats and making the heart bounce around inside of us with friendly palpitations. Winning was a lot more fun than we remembered.

But winning brings expectations, and heading into Atlanta, expectations were high. So what if the Braves were sending to the mound Tommy Hansen (7-2, 3.35) and Derek Lowe (12-7, 4.08)? We’d beat them and add their skins to our trophy wall.

But then something happened. Did you hear it? Way in the distance, that distinct “thud” you heard was the Washington Nationals returning to earth.

After two embarrassing losses in Atlanta, the Nationals hoped to heal themselves on the carcass of the Cincinnati Reds, who went into the game on Thursday with eight players on the disabled list.

The Reds, a full nine games better than Washington, would have none of it. In one of their most lopsided games of the year, the Nationals lost 7-0, garnering just two hits against Bronson Arroyo.

And so the pain of losing hurts again, at least as much as a sporting event can hurt in the scheme of things.

Had that eight-game hiccup not occurred, the last three losses wouldn’t have hurt any more than a punch in the arm by your two-year-old daughter. But now that we again remember what if feels like to win, the sadness, the head-shaking disbelief, has returned.

So, in no particular order, the Nationals have lost three games in a row, lost their most promising young pitcher to Tommy John surgery, and have only a few days left before Stephen Strasburg turns into a pumpkin and Scott Boras flies away on his magic broom.

Strike one. Strike two. Strike three.

Are the Nationals “out?” No, they are not. But that little ray of winning sunshine has allowed an old wound to fester, and it hurts. No longer can we say, “Well, they weren’t that bad after all; these wins proved that.”

Yes, they were that bad.

Right now, the Nationals are surrounded by broken elbows, broken hopes, and broken dreams. Sooner or later, something good has to happen.

I’m just not counting on it right now.