I’m an Atlanta Fan, and I Refuse to do the “the Chop”

I remember staying up late on an October night in 1992 to watch the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Atlanta Braves in the seventh game of the National League Championship Series. I was around 13 years old and in Northwest Louisiana, far away from Fulton County Stadium. I don’t recall everything about that game, but I vividly recall seeing Sid Bream rounding third and sliding into home to clinch the deciding game for Atlanta. Ecstatic, I jumped up and down, muffling screams because my parents were in bed, and I called my grandfather, a longtime Atlanta fan, thanks to their national reach via Turner Broadcasting. My dad got mad that I called my grandfather so late, but I didn’t care.

I grew up an Atlanta fan. I knew about Dale Murphy, Bruce Benedict, Bob Horner, Bruce Sutter, and Glenn Hubbard. I remember watching games at my grandparents house and getting a mass-produced team autographed baseball. I remember hearing the “tomahawk chop” over the television screen and joyfully joining in as the mass of people in the stadium droned in unison as they raised and lowered their arms in a chopping motion…