Three weeks ago, I strolled into a local Dick's Sporting Goods, focused solely on updating my soccer shorts collection and having little time to deal with any distractions. After a brief struggle with the impossibly huge wooden entrance doors, I prepared to blind myself from the irresistible new collection of ski gear and head straight for the athletic apparel. Instead, I was greeted by a scene that left me frozen mid-stride.

There, perched upon a teetering wooden stand, was a sign printed with words that have not been seen together since 1995: "Rockies merchandise is currently out of stock, sorry for any inconvenience."

I pinched my arm; definite pain, it wasn't a dream. I checked my pulse; still beating, I had not reached the afterlife. I ran outside and searched the sky; no pigs in sight. "Oh dear God!" I cried, while falling to the floor and praying viciously to Jesus, Allah, Buddha and Joseph Smith--any potential mercy giver who was willing to listen; better cover all my bases, I reasoned, for the apocalypse must been upon us.

Since that jaw dropping experience, I have not entirely ruled out my apocalyptic predictions. After all, the Rockies have now swept two teams to win the National League pennant and are headed for the World Series-all firsts for a Colorado baseball team. As a result of these successes, Colorado has been gripped by a phenomenon hailed as "Rocktober."

The purple epidemic has spread nationally with baseball enthusiasts jumping on the bandwagon everywhere. I too took a ride on the wagon--buying tickets for the final series games against both the Diamondbacks and the Phillies. While standing in line for a foot-long hot dog during game three of the Phillies sweep, I was approached by a red-clad fan who claimed that all Coloradans were "fair weather" supporters and then continued on with a slew of other, less appropriate accusations. I let his comments slide. After all, his beloved team was just three innings away from having their World Series aspirations stomped into oblivion, but I could not help myself from taking his words to heart.

Surely I was not one of those fickle fans. Granted, in seventeen years of Colorado residency, I had only attended around thirty games at Coors Field-at least ten of which were opening day or involved fireworks, and a good percent of the others were during the reign of Dante Bichette and the Big Cat. And yes, I am guilty of turning off the television plenty of times before the ninth inning, but was my waning enthusiasm really an indication of my lack of support for the Rockies? Perhaps, but in my (and the rest of Colorado's) defense, it is not easy to continually support a team that is featured more frequently on the Best Bloopers Ever reel than on the Play of the Day.

And with that said, I would now like to take this time to thank all of the fans who stuck by the Rock's even at their lowest points; all the season ticket holders who held onto their seats regardless of the unbalanced wins to losses ratio; all the sponsors who continued to give even when the gettin' was tough; all the employees who kept sporting the purple when they were really feeling quite blue; to Todd Helton, who pre-maturely finished his season in August every year, but always came back in February nonetheless; and finally, to the rest of this year's team, who ignored all the critics, battled through the slumps, and gave this state something to cheer about again.

For the less dedicated of us, feel free to jump on the band wagon and show the Rockies the support that they deserve, but this time around, let's redeem ourselves and stick out the ride even through the bad weather.