We all know the general structure of conversations between strangers. You know how it goes when you first start talking to someone you have just met…somewhere within the first five minutes, one person asks the other where they are from. Allow me to pat myself on the back and say I am quite experienced in these situations…as is just about anyone else in the world with a pulse, but please bear with me. When I say I am from St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands, I almost always get the raised eyebrow. This is where the conversation really takes off. I’ve been asked all sorts of questions.

“The Virgin Islands? Aren’t they down by Cuba?” (Closer to Puerto Rico, but nice try)

“Don’t you speak a different language down there?” (No, just a different accent and dialect, but again, nice try)

“Do you have working telephones in the Virgin Islands?” (Um…yes. And the internet. And cable) (I’ve actually been asked this more than you would think, much to my dismay)

Another question I am often asked? “What professional sports teams does one from the Virgin Islands support?” Good question, imaginary person. We Virgin Islanders do not have “hometown teams”. We have to choose our favorites for other reasons. I always tell people I root for a baseball team from Cincinnati, Ohio. This team is the reason I started this blog. I might even go as far as to say this team is my heart and soul.

How did I become a diehard Cincinnati Reds fan? To answer this question, you will have to join me on a brief journey through my family history.

My grandfather, Joe Kreke, was born and raised in the Queen City. He started following the Reds when he was a young boy and it wasn’t long before he was addicted to Reds baseball. He rarely missed an Opening Day game. He obsessed over the Reds and his superstitions make even my eyes go wide. One superstition involved the changing, or not, of one’s boxers in relation to a Reds winning streak. You get the idea, right? Okay, good. Moving on.

When he moved thousands of miles away to St. Thomas and met my beloved grandmother, Marilyn, his passion for the Reds never wavered. He listened to just about every Reds game on shortwave radio, which almost became another appendage for him. When the Reds would lose or make a bad play, he would go out for long walks outside and not speak to anyone, according to my grandmother. His idea of the perfect vacation was packing up the family and heading off for his hometown for Reds baseball games.

I am sad to say that I never really knew my grandfather. He passed away when I was four years old, so, unfortunately, I cannot say I got my Reds fan hood directly from him. There is an intermediary, and his name also happens to be Joe. Joe Davis, my big brother.

Joe Kreke turned Joe Davis into a Reds fan at a very young age, much to the chagrin of my Dad, a Yankees fan, taking him to Cincinnati to watch games in person. It wasn’t long before my brother was as diehard a fan as our grandfather. He developed some of the same superstitions and nervous habits that my grandfather had, and I’ll let you decide if that includes the underwear/winning streak superstition. Joe collected hundreds of baseball cards, the majority of them featuring Reds players. He even wore #11 in little league after his Reds hero, former shortstop Barry Larkin.

I honestly cannot remember at what age I started following the Cincinnati Reds seriously, but I do remember what event triggered my interest in the team. My brother owned a VHS tape (so it must have been pretty damn long ago, right?) that follows the Reds’ 1990 wire-to-wire championship season, and one day he asked me if I wanted to watch it with him. You should know that my brother is a huge influence on me, so I immediately said yes. If my brother thought the tape was cool, it must be pretty cool.

So I watched it. And it was awesome. It was love at first sight.

I was hooked. I started following the Reds scores daily and looking up player statistics online. Before long, I could name every single player on the team’s roster, as well as a good amount of the prospects in their minor league system. In those days (without MLBTV), finding a nationally televised Reds game was rare. So, when there was a game I could watch on TV, that day became sacred. I routinely played hooky from school on Opening Day in order to catch the Reds game, and my parents were totally okay with this (thank you for that, my awesome parents).

What should be kept in mind is that the Reds have hardly ever been a winning team in my many years rooting for them. Actually, prior to 2010, they were almost always terrible. But I’ve stuck with that team through thick and thin because I love the Reds almost as much as I love my family and friends (I can just hear my dad telling me I am out of the will as I write this). They could finish a season 0-162 and I’d still tune in for their next Opening Day game. The Reds have my unconditional love.

I wouldn’t be a Reds fan without my brother’s influence on me and my grandfather’s original passion for the team. I treasure my baseball signed by Johnny Bench from Joe Kreke’s collection. One thing that will always sadden me is that I never had the chance to catch a Reds game with my grandfather, but I will always be grateful to him for passing along his love for the team to me. I have no idea when, but someday, Grandpa, we’ll catch a game together. Maybe the Reds blow a lead in the 9^th inning and we’ll go for a long walk outside together. Or maybe a Reds player will hit a walk-off home run and we’ll give each other a celebratory high five. No matter how the game ends, it sure will be fun. Rest in peace, Grandpa.