I don’t think there has been a more confusing Cleveland Guardians’ team in my lifetime. And I love it.

From the time the Guardians went 9-16 in June AND ended that slide by finishing a 10-game losing streak in July, I have reminded folks that their run differential indicates they are a bad baseball team. I have reminded them that teams with an 85 wRC+ do not make the playoffs.

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The Guardians lost two games to the Red Sox to begin September and have lost two other games (by a combined three runs) since, are 80-71, and have whittled their run differential down to -25. They trail the Mariners by 3 games for the wildcard and the Tigers by 4.5 games for a division that should have been on ice in Detroit two weeks ago.

Their starting pitching and relief pitching have been outstanding, even with Nic Enright’s forearm forcing him out of action. And, speaking of action, you may remember that the team’s best closer is on paid leave and another pitcher who could have helped as a starter or reliever is there with him. Somehow, Carl Willis and co. continue to spin straw to gold out there (Carl has an excellent voice for Rumpelstiltskin, in my mind).

Are the Guardians now… good?

Well, I don’t know if…

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If you take a look at the underlying…

The chances are that when it’s all said and do…

Nope. I’m not writing any of that tonight. The absolute best thing about baseball (and the competition for that title is stiff) is that just when you think you understand it, the game will reveal a hidden secret about itself that may cause you agonizing grief or inexpressible joy. I can’t tell you which will await us at the end of this season, but I can promise you that the ride there with this special group of coaches and players is gonna be worth it.

I remember coaching a church-league slow pitch softball team of mostly teenagers and “rejects” from our older, more athletic team. I put a very thin, somewhat awkward girl named June in short left-field and prayed that no balls would be hit her way. Not because I was afraid she would let the other team score runs, but because I did not want a batted ball to hit her. As I pitched my way through the third inning, the opposing shortstop lifted a hit to short left field. As my eyes widened with horror, June reached down and snagged that ball at shoelace level, ending the inning and not causing any physical damage to herself in the meantime.

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Delight. Laughter. Surprise. Humility. All of these emotions hit me in one swing of the bat and close of the leather around the old horsehide.

Friends, this Guardians’ team is June in so many ways. But, just like June, we now know that the heart of a fierce competitor who doesn’t know when to bow out is beating in this team’s collective chest. And, I feel so proud of them for that; props for Stephen Vogt for not allowing them to let go of the rope in the worst parts of this crazy season.

Ecstasy. Disappointment. Rapture. Agony. Who knows what will show up for me on Sunday, September 28th, but I can’t wait to see what emotions await in following the Guardians for the next eleven(+?) games