TAMPA, Fla. — We focused on the destruction, which was startling, and wondered about the future, which was uncertain. In the post-hurricane rush, all the social media platforms and email exchanges seemed to revolve around the ragged roof of Tropicana Field and reckless speculation of the decimation within.

What the world failed to account for was a community’s resilience. What people like me failed to understand was the determination to rebuild. What hardly anyone saw was a solitary U.S. flag hanging adjacent and above the scoreboard in center field while the wind and rain destroyed so much around it.

Postseason pennants hanging nearby were tattered. The artificial turf on the floor was ruined. The Rays offices, the luxury seats in the lower bowl, the electronics, concessions and clubhouses were in various stages of ruin. Yet the flag was unscathed.

More than 500 days later, the doors to Tropicana Field opened again for a game between the Rays and Cubs on Monday.

The flag in center field was still hanging.

“The one thing that survived without a scratch was the American flag,” said Rays CEO Ken Babby. “I mean, the roof was blown off the building and that flag just stood there. The championship banners were totally destroyed. Leather was blown off of seats, and that flag just stood there.

“Read into it what you want, but I said earlier today that I think this is truly one of the great American comeback stories.”

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The flag hung faithfully. Mary and Jack Critchfield waited patiently.

The former chairman of Florida Progress, who worked behind the scenes to help bring Major League Baseball to Tampa Bay, has had two seats on the aisle in the first row behind home plate since the very first Devils Rays game more than 28 years ago.

There was a time, when the roof first disappeared, when Jack and Mary wondered whether they would ever step foot in Tropicana Field again.

“At that point, I didn’t think they would even try to rebuild,” Jack said from his familiar seat on Monday. “Baseball has been so important to me all through my life and when this went down, I thought that it might have been the last game I’d ever see. You know, I’m not getting any younger.”

To the couple, this wasn’t just a stadium. It was the center of their social world. They knew most of the people sitting around them. Mary used to organize shopping trips with friends from the Trop. They tried going to games at Steinbrenner Field in 2025, but the heat and rain were an unbearable combination. They opted, instead, to organize a dinner so all their stadium friends could come together, even if there was no batter’s box nearby.

So it was no surprise when the doors opened Monday and the Critchfields were among the first fans in the stadium. They sat in their seats as friends, acquaintances and stadium workers came by to hug, laugh and marvel at the work that had been accomplished.

“We all missed one another. It’s almost like your family,” Mary said. “Wherever you are in the ballpark, people create their own enclaves. So it was so amazing coming back here today and having people stop us crossing the street just to say hello. It was all so heartfelt and beautiful.”

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The flag remained steadfast and stoic. Shane McClanahan, on the other hand, fought and raged.

One of the best left-handed starters in all of baseball from 2021-23, McClanahan’s world was torn apart 14 months before the hurricanes did their number on the Trop. McClanahan underwent Tommy John surgery in the fall of 2023 and was destined for nearly 18 months of grueling rehab.

Days before he was scheduled to be the opening-day starter in 2025, a nerve problem in his left arm forced him off the mound again late in spring training. That meant more rehab. More lonely nights. More uncertainty in the prime of his career.

In the first game at the Trop in more than 500 days, McClanahan made the second start of his comeback on Monday. If he was feeling nostalgic or pensive about the pregame ovation or his return to the Tropicana mound after so much time away, those emotions quickly evaporated when he struggled to get through four innings because of control problems.

“Obviously, I’m very thankful to be back, but I’m tired of that s—t,” McClanahan said after the game. “I want to pitch better, I want to win. I’m not here to be a feel-good story. I’m here to win a lot of ballgames for the Tampa Bay Rays. I’m not here to be the guy who came back from a couple of injuries. I hate that. I want to put that s—t behind me. I want to go out there and be the pitcher I know I can be.”

If McClanahan failed to appreciate his own perseverance, others in the clubhouse understood the journey he endured.

“For the general public, I think it’s very difficult to fully appreciate the (toll) it takes on somebody who was as dominant as Mac was and then go close to 1,000 days between pitching in games that mattered,” said pitching coach Kyle Snyder. “I want him to appreciate the work he’s done to get back to this point and understand what all of that means. He’s frustrated right now because he wants it all to happen immediately, but he’s going to be just fine.”

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The flag represents a nation’s shared history. That’s a concept Dan Moeller can appreciate.

Now Tampa Bay’s head groundskeeper, Moeller has been tending to fields — both artificial and real — since the Rays played their first game at the Trop in 1998. In those days, he would work mornings and afternoons at Al Lang Field or the Naimoli complex in west St. Petersburg, and then come to Tropicana to work all night.

If the stadium with the lopsided roof, poor sightlines and absurd catwalks was ridiculed by fans and writers from visiting towns, it remained a special place in Moeller’s world. The temperature was constant. The playing surface was perfect. The memories were special.

He was at his St. Petersburg home the night Hurricane Milton arrived and lost power shortly before nightfall. After his generator kicked in, he began seeing images of the Trop’s battered roof come across his social media and news feeds.

“I’m not a very emotional guy, but it was pretty surreal looking at the videos and wondering where we were going to play,” Moeller said. “This place was home. I spent a lot of hours here, I spent nights here. This has been my life. When I got married, I told my wife that this wasn’t a job, it was a lifestyle and she accepted that and has been cool with that. I’ve spent a lot of 100-hour weeks around here, I’ve spent nights painting logos, a lot of sweat, blood and everything else.

“So, yeah, when that roof came off, I was thinking, ‘Is that it for us?’”

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Through rain, wind and the sunshine of subsequent days, the flag hung proudly. Resolute. Resilient.

As it turns out, much like the community it represented.

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