Adams was Cleveland's drumbeat, and heartbeat

The first homestand of Cleveland's 2007 season was -- in true Cleveland fashion -- going to be completely snowed out.

And so, after the season-opening series against the visiting Mariners was unable to be played, there was a scramble to move the upcoming games against the visiting Angels (yeah, the schedule, um, wasn't the greatest) to another venue so that they would not have to be made up elsewhere in what was fast becoming an unmanageable slate.

Ultimately, the decision was made to go to a city that, like Cleveland, knows a thing or two about Polish sausage, Midwest manners, cold beer and brutal Great Lakes winters … but with the added benefit of a ballpark roof.

That place, of course, is Milwaukee.

Now, when you move "home" games to Milwaukee on less than 24 hours' notice, you're not exactly going to pack the place with Cleveland fans. Cheap tickets went up for sale for the Milwaukeeans interested in this unusual, neutral-site experience, but, basically, aside from batting in the back half of the inning and changing in the posher home clubhouse, the Indians weren't going to get to enjoy the advantages of playing host.

So the club arranged, at the last minute, for its No. 1 fan to be there in the stands, to make the guys feel a little more at home in the odd environs. The team phoned John Adams and invited him, his wife, Kathleen, and his famous drum to fly to Milwaukee, all expenses paid.

When the Tribe came to bat that night, there was Adams, in the right-field stands at the ballpark then known as Miller Park, banging away at his trusty old 26-inch-wide bass drum, just as he had done at home games since 1973, filling the air with his familiar, fanatical thump.

"There is," he joked that night, "a little more echo in here."

It's a little quieter here in Cleveland after news broke on a snowy Monday morning that Adams passed away at the age of 71, after a lengthy illness. For more than 3,500 home games from 1973 through 2019, Adams was the beating, booming heart of the fan base, heightening the in-game experience for all of us in attendance.

Growing up in Cleveland, it was many years before I realized that it's actually abnormal to have a fan banging a drum in the bleachers. The charging, stirring sound that Adams made with his instrument aligned so perfectly with the game's biggest moments that it seemed a natural ballpark tradition.

Obviously, that was not the case. Adams -- much like Cleveland's famous brown mustard -- was a big part of what made Municipal Stadium and then Jacobs/Progressive Field unique. His presence and his pounding, pulsating drum were indelible aspects of games in Cleveland, whether the team was stinking up the '70s and '80s or surging in the '90s.

To drum up support with workmanlike dedication, as Adams did, is to endear yourself to locals and visitors alike.

When the legendary Mariano Rivera was on his retirement tour during the 2013 season, he met with a room full of Cleveland staffers to share memories of past playoff games between his Yankees and the Indians and to thank the people who keep a ballpark running. Rivera specifically asked that Adams be there.

"Where's the drummer?" Rivera asked, scanning the room.

Adams, seated near the back, raised his drum stick.

"You da man!" Rivera said. "Being here, day after day, I really respect that."

The respect for Adams was strong enough that, when his health issues began to prevent him from fulfilling his volunteer duty, Patrick Carney, the drummer for the Akron, Ohio-bred rock band The Black Keys, filled in for him at the home opener in 2021.

"Drumming for him during the home opener when he can't physically be there," Carney said, "feels like a meaningful way to show John the love and respect he deserves."

In the time since, Adams has been inducted into the club's Distinguished Hall of Fame, with a bronze replica of his drum attached to his seat atop the left-field bleachers. Even in his absence, the sound of a computer-generated drum beats on when the club now known as the Guardians needs it most.

Obviously, it's not the same without Adams there. It never will be. But what a legacy of faith and fandom to leave behind. Much like that night in Milwaukee, the sound John Adams made with his drum will echo in our ears and hearts.