Why I Love This Game

We're half way through the final month of the regular season. My Kansas City Royals have been out of playoff contention for nearly five months. But, I still can't get enough baseball talk. I'm hoping for a very active off-season to give me plenty of new information to digest while everyone else is talking about the NFL.

When I was four, my parents signed me up for the YMCA tee-ball program. I remember throwing that soft Incredi-Ball to my coach as hard as my little arm could throw, and his pretending that it hurt catching it bare-handed. That’s when I knew I loved this game.

When I was seven, playing coach-pitch, I got the chance to be the catcher. It was finally my turn to put on the mask, the orange chest protector, and the shin guards, all of which were four sizes too big, making it hard to move. After each pitch I waddled back to get the ball that had just been thrown. Each time there was a group of older kids laughing at me because I couldn’t catch the ball, and I looked funny trying. I made up my mind, and I was going to prove them wrong. I was going to catch that next pitch. In it came, the batter swung, made contact, and popped it up ten feet in the air and just behind where I was crouched. I caught it. The crowd cheered. The laughing on the other side of the backstop stopped. That’s when I knew I loved this game.

When I was eighteen years old, I was a high school senior playing for the state championship. We were down by four runs, we were the home team, and we had three outs left. We started off with a solid single, then a blooper dropped in right field. A double off the wall, another single, a fielder’s-choice, followed by another double off the left field wall tied the game. A ground ball through the left-side hole might have been able to score the winning run from second, but he was held up at third. Our backup catcher came to the plate to pinch-hit. Our every-day catcher was going to be drafted, so the backup didn’t see much time that season. When he drove the ball over the heads of the shallow outfielders the game was over. There was a dog pile on the man that scored the winning run. Parents and students rushed the field and joined in the celebration. That’s when I knew I loved this game.

When I was older, and playing in a collegiate summer league after my final season with the local junior college, I was a starting pitcher. I pitched well that summer. I would be attending a university in the fall, and was planning to tryout, but wasn’t sure I’d make the team. I started our final game that summer. I pitched well, but lost. I took my time after the game, raking the mound, removing my cleats, gathering my things, and packing my bag. As I walked across the infield the sun was setting behind the scoreboard. My coach stopped to say goodbye. I looked over his shoulder at the field in the evening twilight and was overcome with emotion. That’s when I knew that I would always love this game.