A Baseball Family (Repost)

I grew up an Army brat, and constantly looked for ways to get my dad’s attention and time: trying to match his hourly wage, joining boy scouts, and baseball. Fortunately for me we got all our moving out of the way by the time I was 6 years old. I grew up in southwestern Oklahoma just hours from the Dallas-Ft Worth area. My dad was a Rangers fan and would watch the games occasionally, but his passion for it definitely grew as it did with that of me and my brother. I remember going to a few games at the Ballpark in Arlington as a kid and seeing the field for the first time. It’s still as magical every time I walk through those gates. I remember picking #7 in little league and wanting to play catcher like my favorite player, Pudge. I remember Cal Ripken Jr. picking up my little sister out of the stands because people were crushing her to get his autograph, and she had no idea who happened to be holding her. I remember pulling my first game used baseball card from a random pack that my dad happened to just pick up for me one day. It was a Pudge bat. Of all the baseball cards we have bought over the years, neither me nor my dad have pulled another game used Pudge card since that day. I remember having a ball get away from my dad as we were playing catch and giving me a black eye; it was just like the Sandlot. I remember the first fly ball I ever caught in a little league game. I was so excited that I forgot to throw the ball back to the infield right away. I love baseball. I love baseball because it never lets us forget. Baseball is forever redeeming. It gives me memories of such great detail that may have nothing to do with the box score. Baseball isn’t bias. Baseball isn’t bound to a demographic. It brings every group, every class, and every personality to one temple and dissolves every difference. For twenty-seven outs we are all baseball fans with an emotional attachment to our team that is comparable to our own families. It’s a bond that creates the highest emotional moments and the lowest gut punching moments not only in a 162 game span but in a mere few innings. Baseball can be broken down into any microscopic detail that they smartest mathematician can fathom, but still every projection, every prediction, every power ranking become null as soon as the season starts. Baseball is a family. It brings those already bound closer together and it brings those who would have never otherwise been in the same company together to share in heartbreak, arguments, high fives, spilt beers, tears, exhaustion, fear, hope, and happiness. It’s a simple game that exhausts limits and anchors bonds.