Most of all, this message is for Evan Longoria and David Price. You’ve got the best record in all of baseball the American League, playing in the toughest division in baseball. You’re one game away from clinching the second playoff berth in team history. And yet you’re forced to wonder: where the hell are the […]
Ping, said the ball as it left the aluminum bat, and sailed over the head of the second baseman. I made it to first base before the outfielder could collect it, and so in three years of Little League, I can claim that one hit to my name.
I was ten, and my playing experience permanently colored my opinion of baseball. Playing outfield bored me; batting terrified me. Why would I spend any more time on a pastime that I didn’t enjoy?
The damage to my relationship with baseball endured long into my adulthood. I went to the occasional baseball game as a social event – Wrigley Field to get drunk watching the Cubs lose; Camden Yards to hobnob with my wife’s law firm in the skyboxes; even a couple of games here in Tampa because it seemed like a “cool dad” thing to do with my boys. Otherwise, baseball was not in my life and I didn’t miss it a bit.
Then, in late August, it looked like the Rays were going to make a run to win the division. I caught the beginning of one game by accident while having dinner with the boys; we went home and watched the rest. It was the first time I can remember intentionally watching baseball on TV.