My first love, at least as far as sports go, was baseball. My Dad played all through high school and had a tryout with the St. Louis Cardinals at one point (he was way too short to play, or so he would tell me), and he taught me from an early age. I collected baseball cards—a hobby Dad allowed despite the fact that we were poor and couldn’t afford many extra expenses. Baseball was a way to bond with my family, and I took as much advantage of it as I could.
As mentioned before, I even watched it with my Grandmother on the weekends when I would stay at her house. Growing up in the early days of cable, there weren’t many options to watch all the time. Except one. WTBS out of Atlanta broadcast almost every single game that the team played on their new nationwide broadcast network. Since that’s what we had to watch, that’s who I chose for my fandom.
And I grew up when Atlanta were terrible in the ‘80s. They had a collection of decent players: Dale Murphy, Ken Griffey (Sr.), Terry Pendleton to name a couple, but they could never put together a winning season, or at least not enough to be playoff relevant. It didn’t matter. They were the home team I would watch every night that I could from April to September. They were the team that I’d hope against hope could make a 4-run comeback in the bottom of the 9th with two outs (all we needed was a home run from each of the next four batters…that was possible, right?). They were the team that when they would win, I would celebrate like they’d won the World Series—forgetting that they’d just come off a 5-game losing streak and were sitting in the cellar of the standings.
They were my first taste of what it was like to be a fan of anything.
And it never changed, especially when they got good. I remember sitting outside the restaurant my Dad managed in 1991, freezing inside our vehicle watching them on a black and white 12-inch portable TV when they lost (what I still consider) the greatest World Series game ever played. I remember the cathartic release that was 1995 when they finally won a World Series (over the much more long-suffering franchise from Cleveland). I remember the stars of their 14-year domination of their division (we don’t talk about the strike-cancelled 1994 season), the heartbreak of having to realize that era was over, and the renewed joy when we finally won again with a new generation (COVID Trophy still counts!).
I can’t tell you every pitch, or every player that ever played for them, but I can tell you the high and low points. I can tell you how I felt each year, how good it was for me that they were getting good right as I started to get into school circles that served as the training grounds for trash talking and stat-spewing defense of your chosen team. For 7 months of every 12, I lived and died with the crack of the bat and the snap of leather on a white cowhide ball.
I loved this sport, and above all, this team. Which is what makes the bits I’m about to write that much harder.
I never saw the flaws and problems with the Atlanta Braves baseball team.
I’d like to blame it on the fact that I was a kid at the time, but I know that doesn’t fully cover it. I had no idea then that Ted Turner (the owner) had created an institution that I consider to be one of the major problems with our world today (that being CNN-the first 24-hour national news network). I had no idea who Jane Fonda was and why everyone with any connection to the military despised her (despite her later apologies about her behavior during the Vietnam War). Most importantly, I didn’t care to recognize that the very symbols of this team that I loved were harmful and racist caricatures.
And that’s the big thing here—I didn’t stop to think at all about the idea that things surrounding the team could be hurtful. I didn’t consider the personal practices of a loose cannon entrepreneur and his wife to have any bearing on me being a fan of a team that he makes money from. I didn’t think that something used to rally fans and players to the team’s cause could be disrespectful and degrading to nations of people. I was too busy being in love with a team, its players, and the bonds that it created with those around me.
While the ownership issues can be concerning, I’m really going to focus on the Native American iconography and appropriation pieces. I’d heard the concerns when the Tomahawk Chop started becoming popular (around the time the Braves started winning), but bought into the idea that it was “honoring” the warrior spirit of the Native American and not appropriating their culture (a term that was still a couple of decades from the mainstream’s consciousness). I’d seen some of the imagery around the team, even though the Chief Noc-A-Homa mascot had been retired for 25 years by that point. I took it as a nod to the Native American legacy. I definitely subscribed to a privileged attitude that this is fun, it doesn’t affect me, so it can’t be that bad.
I write all of this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, we aren’t too old to grow and think about what we do. I’m constantly working to overcome unconscious and conscious biases that are a combination of a conservative Southern upbringing and meeting situations I’ve never had to give thought to. I didn’t do these things because I was being intentionally hateful or racist. I did these things out of ignorance and massive obliviousness. That can be even worse, but it also gives an opportunity to grow if you take it. I’ve had several turning points in my journey to be a better person, and most of them revolve around challenging the biased thinking of my upbringing and looking at others as people.
Secondly, and more to the theme of this site, is that the shame I feel displaying some of the iconography of my fandom (specifically in a Greg Maddux jersey with the word “BRAVES” over a red tomahawk) puts me severely at odds with my memories in being fan of the team. This is a team that I attached so many core memories to. I connected with my family in about the only way I really knew how through baseball and through that team. I connected with new friends I’d meet when I’d move and change schools every year. I felt highs, lows, and all of the emotions in between because of that team and baseball. Baseball and the Braves got me through a lot of mental and emotional struggles as I grew up.
And yet, for all of the on the field work, for all of the charity and community involvement, for all the good that came to my life from that team and my association with them, there are still major issues with how they handle their use Native American names and symbols.
This is not necessarily as clear cut as the Washington Racial Slurs football team and changing the name. “Braves” isn’t a racial slur of a term. There are some Native American tribes that say the name is ok. The team, for it’s part, stopped using the chop…sort of. (They brought it back for their World Series run a couple years ago, but discontinued its use after a Native American player called them out on it, so no full marks for that one.) They reached back out to the Native American community, and are in discussions about how to move forward. On the surface (and as much as a corporation will show), they seem to be trying to grow and learn. Unless it means changing the name. Even when other teams are doing it.
There is still that cloud hanging over the team I first loved, because some of its symbols and traditions are harmful. The name, which may not be a racial slur, also brings to mind the imagery. The Tomahawk Chop keeps coming back as an offensive caricature because of the Braves name. You wouldn’t expect Diamondbacks, Mets, or Angels to invoke those images, right? There is merit to the argument that as long as the name stays, the chances for offensive stereotypes to perpetuate increase. I don’t believe those are the organization’s intentions, but I know a few pathways to hell paved with such bricks.
So how do you deal with that as a supporter? How do you deal with that in anything you come across in your daily life? What do you do when a restaurant makes a food so good, but the owners use their profits for something you find evil? Or when a store offers employment opportunities, selection, value on prices, and ease of access, but got where it did by running small family owned shops out of business across the country? Or when a team/player you love tries to contravene the spirit of their sport and create a new cash cow league solely for their own gain?
The truth is, I don’t know. Or at least, I don’t know where your line is. At the risk of getting into a moral absolutism vs. relativism argument, the thought and philosophy behind the decision to continue to support a team is up to you. It matters why you support the team. It matters what you get out of the team. It matters what the team did that goes against your values. It matters what you are willing to accept based on what they return. It matters what they do when they are called out.
It matters if their actions hurt others that you love.
There are some hard lines in the sand. There are things that a team could do that no matter what joy or bonding memories they’ve given me would be a deal breaker and cause me to withdraw my support. There are some black and white answers, but most of it falls into difficult shades of gray with no easy resolution.
As for where I land with Atlanta now: I still follow them and want the players to do well. I’d like them to change the name, acknowledge the past, and work with the Native American community. I still support the team, but in the same way that you support a family member who you think needs help—with love and hope, but critically and with caution.
And more than occasionally, with a tear and a breaking heart.
As always, I appreciate any discussion or thoughts you might have on these elements as it pertains to teams you support, or even a discussion the philosophy presented here. Comment below or send an e-mail. Respectful discourse is always welcome, as is the chance for continued growth.
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