Josh Hunter

Tom Skerritt – an iconic star known for Alien, MASH, Top Gun, and much more – has sadly passed away at the age of 93. 🕊️ Read More: bit.ly/4hW6qOY

It's not your fault. You shouldn't have to try. It's not you. It's not. It's them. It's the Reds. Because I am an English major, and also because of our bullpen, I was in a yoga class this past week. The Reds season was still in existence then. It was a worse time. I’m pretty sure the instructor isn’t a Reds fan, or a baseball fan, or any kind of sports fan, really. She is the type of person who walks to the strip of grass between a gas station parking lot and the road to put her hands on the grass because “I felt anxiety and needed to ground myself to the Earth.” I know this because she announced it. She’s that type of person, too. I love her. She has ported in from 1968, clutching a bundle of sage and not particularly caring if you’ve noticed or not. But it seemed as if she was at least aware of the existence of the Reds, because she also said “Observation is unhappiness.” And then “Pain is a signal that something is wrong.” This came amidst reaction to the Cincinnati Reds’ statement that, due to the disappointing results of this season, president Nick Krall, GM Brad Meader, Phil Castellini, Bob Castellini, and that one beer guy who’s a little too committed to foam are all returning next year. You will take your losing, and you will like it. This isn’t as bad as it initially sounds, however, because the Reds have a Super Secret Plan to turn it all around. “Nick and Brad will continue leading our baseball operations,” the announcement said, “and they are in the process of auditing every aspect of our player development system so they can make the decisions that will yield better results.” This is a wise tactic. Empowering people who can’t or won’t do their jobs to can’t or not do their jobs even harder typically yields vast improvement. This information bounced right on off my Reds-hardened heart, but what gave me sad pause was the aftermath. Comment upon comment, post upon post, from lifelong Reds fans and season ticket holders individually raising the white flag on scraping together affection for this ballclub in its present state: “I’m 35 years old and I’ve been a Reds fan my whole life and…” “I stuck with them through the ’84 season but…” “I was looking forward to bringing my newborn son to the games…” “I’ve tried.” “We’ve tried.” “I’m done trying." You should not have to try to love and enjoy your team. It’s not a marriage, much as this might feel like one, since innocent children are involved. It’s not a job, much as it also might feel like one, because watching this team is work. But it is a relationship, one which is supposed to result in enjoyment. Have the 2026 Reds resulted in enjoyment for you? The concept of “I’ve tried” to enjoy watching a sport that’s supposed to serve as a distraction and balm from daily labors, a source of tightening the bonds of family and friendship, indicates something deeply wrong in the Reds’ relationship with the city. It’s not us. I don’t care what Phil says. It is not you. It’s them. Pain is a signal that something is wrong. I honestly don’t know how Mets fans continue to exist year to year. I suppose it’s an enduring matter of fulfilled expectations. But Rockies fans at least get to go outside into some of the best summer weather into the world. You cannot say that about Queens. And you also can’t say that nothing ever changes in Denver; every few decades or so, the elevation of the stadium changes as it is remeasured by the National Geodetic Survey, rendering the purple seats marking the mile-high line incorrect. Well– the elevation shifts, but the seats never have, which should tell you something Reds-like, and this year the Rockies finished 58-104, an almost-there 41 games out of first place. Feel better? You shouldn’t. The presence of another team out-sucking yours does not negate the origin of the initial suck. Observation is unhappiness. And “I’ve tried” indicates a sense of fealty, obligation– the presence of duty. To the Reds. Who finished the year having walked in a run twenty-six times this season, the most in the entirety of Major League Baseball. It’s true that a relationship– and this is a relationship, transactional as it might be on at least some level– involves investment on both sides. If the Reds do well and perform positive community outreach, they deserve our attention and support. You don’t have to, as a human being, give it. However, doing so feels like mustering enthusiasm for colonoscopy prep. But at this point it’s obvious that, despite players’ efforts, this front office, having made its TV money and collected its shared revenue payout, is content to watch the bullpen compile a 4.68 ERA. And the Reds, as professional sport– as, at the bottom, entertainment– bear the burden of keeping us in the seats. Not via bobbleheads. Not by tacking a D-list music act on the end of yet another loss. No fanbase has the right to a winning team. The Constitution does not lie writhing on the ground because the Reds finished 27th in the whole league, runs-wise. But you shouldn’t have to try. (For the most recent version of this column, and to join others in the conversation happening at its home, click the link in the first comment)