braves

“i just heard on the radio,” she told me over the phone as i steered my way through wednesday rush hour, “that they’re running out of newspapers all over atlanta.” i was immediately filled me with fomo and freshly-squeezed cortisol, and a new sense of direction took control of my steering wheel. by now you probably know that i’m a newspaper man, that i still reach for pulp non-fiction, and that although i do consume a lot of my news online, i still go out of my way to grab papers with a big story. the day before yesterday the atlanta braves had defeated the houston astros in game six of the world series, a game that finished a few minutes after midnight, eastern standard time, so technically wednesday, and so likely after the printing presses were already churning out many of the city’s metro papers. “they said they’re gonna print more for tomorrow, so i’m gonna set my alarm extra early.” after our call i pulled up at the nearest, and of course the brightest, gas station to vet her story, and she was right: i was greeted by a hasty paper sign taped to the door that dashed my hopes and for a moment struck me as eerily orwellian: OUT OF NEWSPAPERS. the grocery store i dropped into next also ran out. “i’m sorry, sir, we’re out of those.” and the gas station after that? same story. “we’re all out.” i once heard a saying, once being recently, and most probably on tiktok, that the best time to plant a tree is twenty-five years ago. i imagine this applies to investing too. well the best time to get a newspaper, i’ve learned, is immediately after the delivery driver leaves the premise. the next morning, having set my alarm before sunrise, a painful exercise in waking up unnaturally, i walked into a gas station on my way to work to find a dozen starched copies of the previous day’s newspaper, the november 3rd edition of the atlanta-journal constitution, sitting atop the metal rack, conspicuously announcing the story of the day with a one-word headline: CHAMPS. i grabbed a handful, and in good faith, and against my own wishes, i left a few for the night owls. back in my car i take in the headline and the players reveling in victory. it’s raining, and i’m already late for work. the next moment i blink and time suddenly rewinds to game six, to the season, to years past, to the nineties when i remember swinging for the fences as a kid myself, chasing fowl balls for free bubble gum and icees, hearing the roar of thirty-something-year-old parents yelling from the wobbly bleaches. i remember the atlanta braves of 1995, i remember the night games at fulton county stadium and turner field off i-85, and i remember meeting chipper jones at a basketball game. i think my brother spotted him sitting beside a pretty woman, and of course mom asked if we could interrupt his date to snap a quick picture. that sweater. i’ll never forget the audacity of the those colors. o’ the nineties, the final stretch of the analogue era, the reign of aol and dial-up internet, and the joys of a phoneless youth. simpler times. but that was back when. it’s 2021 now, machines are rising, tiktok is turning america’s youth into dancers, crypto is giving the dollar a run for its money, it’s early november these days, and outside my windows the season of fall has arrived in full bloom, breezing through town with colder weather and falling leaves. as i write this words the braves are celebrating their win in a city-wide all-day parade across atlanta. kids and teachers got the day off, and for the moment it seems the source of our divisions have disappeared on the parade route. it’s strange to think that one day freeman and acuna and swanson and albies and all the others will retire out of the league and maybe one or two of them will replace jon schmolz and his co-hosts at espn where they will be the next generation of commentators for mlb games featuring players who today are barely ten, fifth and six graders swinging for the fences on tee-ball fields in obscurity. the seasons of nature and baseball always return with the same game: they always bring change. tuesday night i was sitting in the living room drinking my dinner, a humbling bowl of tomato soup, chasing each bite with saltines, and sinking into the couch as i weathered a raging cold and watched game six, witnessing the braves pitch, swing, and catch their way into history. it’s true i tend to root for a fighting underdog, for the succession of davids taking the field, and besides, it’s not every year your hometown team wins the world series. but this year they did. against the odds. against the critics. against their own record. it’s a new season in atlanta, and they won. their fourth world series as a franchise. their second in atlanta. well-deserved. well-played. go braves

—jk montane