On Baseball

Wrigley Field...hallowed ground

As a child, I wasn't much of an athlete. Let's be honest, I've never been much of an athlete in the true sense of the word at any point in my life. I'm fine with that. Athletics just didn't come naturally to me, except water skiing, which I was pretty adept at, but that's hardly a team sport. The only sport, team or otherwise, that I really tried as a kid was baseball.

Ah...baseball. I can still remember my three seasons of Little League spent in the furthest reaches of right field. My playing position should tell you something about my skill level. I remember the excitement / fear of stepping into the batter's box. The anticipation of that moment could be overwhelming. My memories of hearing the crack of my bat as it connected with the ball are a bit fuzzy. That is not because of my solid middle age, but the reality that my bat connecting with a pitch was a rarity. It was clear I was never going to the big leagues and I'm not talking about the MLB. I wasn't going anywhere beyond Little League.

My lack of baseball aptitude never quelled my love of the game. Am I a numbers-mad fan? Can I quote a player's stats, chapter and verse? No and no. Does that diminish my love of the game? Absolutely not. It's a game I get. It's a game I really like watching, whether it be at a minor league field, a Spring Training Mecca, a big league stadium, or on my TV, I'm happy to take in a game.

That said, there is something wonderful about taking in a game live. Over the years, I've been fortunate enough to see games in several pro stadiums across the country. I've been in the cheap seats (you haven't lived until you've watched the Cubs play from the general admission seats above the ivy at Wrigley) and in more than a few suites (the sushi at Yankees Stadium absolutely does not suck). Regardless of the seat, there is something uniquely American about a baseball game. Around the world, we Americans are known for our arguable inflated sense of exceptionalism and that sense translates to hope in the baseball field. There's always hope there. Even when your team has yet another terrible season, you go away saying, "There's always next season." Believe me, as someone who proudly adopted Chicago as his hometown and hence the Cubs as his team, I know of where I speak when it comes to hope for the next season.

I've really liked that as a family, we've shared this love of baseball. Seeing my kids hanging out with Manny Mota on the field at Dodgers Stadium was a highlight. Watching my daughters ask Ron Cey for his autograph when they had no idea who he was was a lot of fun. Taking in a Texas Rangers game in Arlington last year with CAL was a memory I'll forever cherish.

Opening Day was just three days ago. Baseball is back. Some people complain it's a boring game. I'm not one of them. Baseball, to me, is good memories. It is fun. It is family. It is hope. Yeah, I'm a fan.

Meandering through Memory Lane

It looks nothing like it did when I graduated
thirty two years ago

The last few days found me in Arizona for the great annual event known as Mom's Tax Roundup. It can be as fun as it sounds, believe me. This year, though, we were totally on point. I don't know if it's her previously mentioned "Over the Rainbow (or as I like to call it, 'No I really am dying this time and I mean it!') Project but things were a pinnacle of organization this go round. As a result, I had a little more time than usual before meeting with our accountant (P.S. if you are in Arizona, you should be doing business with him). So that time allowed me to meander through Memory Lane, something I don't normally do while I'm back in the state where I spent my childhood.

High School
For whatever reason, I decided to go see my high school. To say that it has changed in the thirty two years since I graduated was an understatement. I hardly recognized it and I suppose that's a good thing. High school for me was not great (I've posted some of the pictures of myself from those years and that's the least of the reasons why it can be described as not great). In the immortal words of another one of America's wisest philosophers, Ferris Bueller, "It's a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school." Nailed it, Ferris. Since it was Spring Break (because Arizona students needs a break from the horrific winters they endure), I was able to hang around about without looking, well, pervy. I  about died when I saw this on the administration building (a building that did not exist during years there):

"A+ School of Excellence" - let me assure you that excellence was the furthest thing from the mind of both the students of the august Class of 1984 and its administration. Somehow, like most of us, I survived the house of horrors that is high school and I was glad that I left smiling as I drove away after seeing it again after so many years.

Spring Training
As a baseball fan, growing up we got to a few Spring Training games, and I've been able to get to a few more of the years as an adult. A few years ago, we took my late father to a Cubs game and one of the best pictures we have is of him standing with Ronnie Woo Woo. I don't think Dad knew who Ronnie was but it's a great picture just the same. So with the Cubs playing the White Sox this past Saturday, I decided to relive that memory as well. Armed with a cheap ticket off the StubHub on a glorious day, I took in the game alone (baseball games and my mom aren't an ideal match) until another memory literally manifested itself in the row in front of me.

See, I told you it was an amazing day!

At the bottom of the first inning, a woman comes to the row in front of me and blurts out my name. I knew instantly who it was, in spite of the fact that by our calculus, it's probably been 30+ years since we've seen each other. She used to 'babysit' us! Now I should say that there's only a three year age gap between us but still she had the hard task of 'babysitting' my siblings and I when my parents would go out of town before I got a drivers license. Thanks to my incessant posting in the lead up to the game and her son's eagle eye, they found me. We had a great time talking and getting caught up. So funny that now we are both grandparents!

The last time she stayed with us, as I recall, I was pretty annoyed because I was pretty close to at least having my driving permit and I could not understand why a babysitter was required while my parents were gone (again, I wasn't legal to drive). Anyway, one Sunday morning we were driving to go get religion and this poor girl, Shawna, was behind the wheel of our Suburban when the power steering failed and failed big time. She was struggling mightily to turn this land yacht and I was having none of it in terms of jumping to her aid. I was in the front seat (the boss bench seats only years for the Suburban) and still seething that I couldn't drive, I was in no mood to help. I'm (mildly) proud to say that I did decide to help her turn it and we got it into a parking lot. I'm pretty sure she doesn't remember that but that memory had me laughing through the rest of the game, which the Cubs won (please, please, please be a good omen for this season)!

We live in a small world. The likes of the Instagram and the Facebooks make it even smaller. Those forums serve as a "Trapper Keeper" for the memories we capture today. It was good to meander through a slew of memories this weekend. I'm still smiling.