Take Me Out to the Ballgame

This is an archived post from my old blog.

Baseball.

The “Great American Past time” as it has been referred to in the past. While some folks no longer believe this to be the case (more people watch NASCAR racing these days, and American “football”, for some reason, is an obsession with many), baseball has had more than its fair share of problems over the past 20+ years.

Between scandals, strikes, and steroids, The Boys of Summer have seen their images tarnished time and time again. Sure, they've lost some fans, but every year, starting with Spring Training, the faithful return to ballparks across the nation to enjoy warm evenings, hot dogs and foul balls.

And as for me, more than ever, I'm there with them; watching the game, cheering the home team and savoring every moment of it all.

Yeah, I still love baseball. Despite it all, I'll be in the stands cheering, clapping, booing and having a good old time.

Baseball, when all is said an done, is really just a simple game. Whether you're quoting Tim Robbins' character from the movie Bull Durham, when he says “this is a simple game: You throw the ball, you hit the ball, you catch the ball”, or George Carlin, who's said the purpose of the game is to “go home”,
there is nothing like being there.

I've sat in the outfield, keeping score on the scorecard (yes, I do know how to score a game, even if I still have problems doing the math for the averages and the concept of the “balk” continues to escape me). I've sat on the right field line, hoping a foul ball would come my way (and I'd be paying attention and not have it go off my back...again). I'm there from the first pitch until the last out. I'm watching for the vendor to come around with Cracker Jack (since I don't drink) and sit there and munch the whole bag down.

I'm standing there with my cap over my heart for the National Anthem. I'm there for the seventh inning stretch, singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” slightly out of key. I'm on my feet when there's two outs in the bottom of the ninth and the home team is one pitch away from winning the game and sending the fans home happy.

Sure, there have been problems with the game as of late. There's scandals with steroids. Anyone who takes a look at a picture of Barry Bonds today and compares that to when he played for the Pirates in the late 80's-early 90's knows he's on the juice. Ain't no way he could've developed THAT many muscles at his age.

This isn't the first scandal baseball has had. It's suffered before, back in '94 when the strike canceled the World Series. A man named Cal Ripken, Jr., breaking a record many believed would never be broken, won back a lot of fans. Sure, there are over-paid players, but for every Yankee paid ten times his worth by Steinbrenner, there are dozens of hungry young guys trying to make it to the majors, who know where they came from, who will stay there and sign every autograph for every kid who asks.

Is the game perfect? No. Nothing in this world is perfect, and nothing ever will be. If everything was perfect, then the world would be a bloody boring place. We take this game with its flaws, its spoiled overpriced crybabies, and the second mortgage we have to take out on the house to get dinner for the family.

Why?

Because we love this game. I love this game. Even though my hometown team, the Pirates, haven't won a season for the past 14 years, I still love them as much as I love the game.

And you'll find me, out there in the stands, enjoying another warm Summer's night at the ballpark.

Join me there sometime. I'll even share some of my Cracker Jacks with you.