I am new to
the joys of baseball. During teen years I followed NASCAR like a cat follows a
laser pointer. A combination of things led me to fall away from the high paced
sport. College was one. Instead of watching races I had to actually study.
Various other changes in the sport also led me to just stop watching.
Growing up,
baseball was always in the house. Always. When I was about 7 my parents bought
me a Louisville Slugger. Dad would take me out to the yard and we would play a
little game of “hit the ball”. I have knew the proper batting stance before I
could remember my phone number. Ultimately, my brother took to following
baseball naturally. My eyes kind of glazed over to it…until about 2 years ago.
I was still
in nursing school, and baseball was on TV. It was towards the end of the baseball
season, the semester was dragging on, and I wanted to spend some time with my
guys (my dad and brother). I shoved the nursing books away and sat down between
Sean and dad on the couch and said “Explain this”. The next hour was spent with
dad and Sean explaining the various nuances of the game. It was a very happy
hour.
Next
baseball season came, and my adopted little brother joined Little League. SO
FREAKING ADORABLE. You would have to be stone cold and heartless to not get
fuzzy feelings from little guys in uniforms trying to figure out what to do
after they actually hit a ball. I learned even more facts about the game, and
saw first hand the childish joy associated with baseball. My dad was pushing
for us to go as a family to a minor league game in Sacramento. We decided to
go. Some family friends met us at Raley Field, and the rest is history. I fell
in love with the quiet and relaxing experience of sitting at the ballpark with
the family. The atmosphere was soothing. I was hooked. Few things are quite as
wonderful as sitting on a warm summer night with lemonade in hand watching the
game.
Football is
loud and aggressive. Basketball is invasive and flashy. Golf is too laid back
and…dull. NASCAR lacks poetry and grace. Baseball seems to be the perfect
balance of everything. It has its moments of excitement, but you can also get
up and stand in line for more popcorn without feeling like you are missing
everything. Baseball is leisure. Between pitches and innings you can have a
conversation. You can soak in it. It takes place during a time of year when we
come alive. The winter chill has ended, and we bloom into baseball season.
As my dad
says “Baseball is beautiful”. (I think he stole the quote from someone else,
but as far as I am concerned it is from him). I have found that it is indeed a
lovely thing. Life is hard. Life is stressful. Life moves too fast already.
Taking some time to sit down and watch a game is sometimes the exact thing you
need. I can sit riveted to every play, or I can let my mind drift. It means for
nine innings the world and all its problems are far away. It means warm summer
nights. It means little guys in baseball cleats. It means I can spend some time
with the two most important guys in my life. Baseball. Is. Beautiful.
“Don't tell me about the world. Not today.
It's springtime and they're knocking baseballs around fields where the
grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve
ball.”-- Pete Hamill
