Baseball has always been special to me; no doubt because of my dad's passion for it and how it helped forge and grow our relationship. But I've long been a "baseball geek." I had notebooks of All-Time Teams (1st Team All Time, 2nd Team All Time), in which I constantly debated about who to pick (Willie Mays or Mickey Mantle for CF? Satchel Paige or Walter Johnson for Ace?). I would create teams by decades; study stats, read biographies of players from Gehrig and Ruth to Clemente and Aaron. To this day, I remain a geek, though the demands of life don't allow me to create lists of teams anymore (that may be a good thing).
But Baseball goes beyond normal sports fandom for me; it carries significant meaning because of its role in my relationship with my dad. My dad was my little league baseball coach growing up; the one who showed me how to hit (after I got out of my own way ;)), who gave me drills to make myself a better player; taught me to rub my new glove with bear grease and bake it in an oven to break it in (I can still smell that smell); taught me how to throw a myriad of new pitches. And he was the one, 20 years ago, got season tickets for the inaugural season of the Lansing Lugnuts. We were there on April 5, 1996 for opening night (I have the commemorative baseball to prove it), and as my Dad says, "we froze our butts off!" That was the end of my freshman year in high school. We had season tickets for several years, a couple rows up behind home plate. We had many conversations with the ballplayers on the Lugnuts who sat in the seats around us, doing their scouting work; talking to them about their dreams, hearing their stories of perseverance and determination (and celebrating later when the few made it to the majors).
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The view from our seats, on a perfect, gorgeous evening.[/caption]But those Lugnuts' during my high school helped build, I think, the wonderful relationship I have with my dad. High school years can be tumultuous and challenging for relationships between parents and children, and my Dad and I had our moments. But we always had those Lugnuts games, we always had baseball to bring us together; to remind us how much we enjoyed sharing that with each other. Because of the pace of baseball (which some may chagrin), we always had room for conversation - we talked about the game and the players, but we also talked about our lives, our thoughts, our feelings.
And for the last decade or so, the games I go to each summer with my dad - be it in Indianapolis, Toledo, or Lansing - allows us the same conversation - meaningful discussion of the important stuff in life, right alongside the unimportant stuff, all while enjoying some sausages. They are a special time. And last night, sitting in almost the same seats where we had season tickets, seeing the same mascot (Big Lug) and uniforms; taking it all in, it brought back the memories of all those good summer nights 20 years ago. We had good conversation, sharing thoughts and ideas; but mostly just sharing ourselves with each other.
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The infamous Big Lug, still looking the same after 20 years on the job.[/caption]And that's why, in part, why baseball will always be special to me. It is always a conversation starter for my Dad and I, and always a reminder of all the fun times we shared from little league to last night. My Dad and I, we will always have Baseball.
"There is something special about baseball that goes far deeper than being a game. It is the father-son relationship that is built, the life lessons that are taught in the process of playing a game and the ability to overcome not succeeding all of the time and still considering yourself a success." - JohnA Passaro
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