My Love Letter to You, Baseball
This time of year has people feeling a certain way: Love is in the air. Some like to celebrate with fancy dinners, proposals, gorgeous flowers or other gestures dictated by a date on the calendar. Not me. Not this year. This is straight from the heart. I’m tired of playing it cool and pretending I haven’t loved you since my black-and-blue laced, Bo Jackson “signed” glove. This is my love letter to you, Baseball.
For someone who doesn’t live daily in your world anymore, Baseball, you had, and still have, a profound impact on my life. It’s because of you that I have the best things in life. Before we get to the present, let’s walk down memory lane.
Baseball, that first “Bo Jackson” glove was my introduction to your intoxicating smell: The mixture of leather and dirt has stained my senses. But I’m more than just a creepy guy on the subway sniffing a stranger’s hair. My first meaningful connection was with my Papa Victor. He threw me grounders and used the pipe in the middle of his yard as our marker for second base to turn two. At four-years-old, all I wanted to do was throw a ball morning to night with my grandpa.
You also caused my first heartbreak, Baseball. It was a year later while visiting family in Houston. My first game was Astros vs. Pirates. I don’t remember the circumstances, but I threw my Ninja Turtle glove on the field, forever lost. It was a Donatello glove, so I was only slightly devastated (Raphael for lyfe). I remember that important lesson: You give all of yourself to baseball and, sometimes, you leave empty-handed.
After the tears dried, we quickly rebounded, Baseball. You knew the way to my heart, with my first jersey. I was drafted by powerhouse Wolf Insurance. I remember the black jersey and white number 11 like it was yesterday. But beyond that, it was my first connection to my dad I cherish most.
You’ve kept me humble. A strikeout to end my first All-Star game was a moment that still stings. That swing-and-miss forever ruined my post-game present: the game Mouse Trap.
Our good times continued when you created an income stream for me. Papa Victor paid me for my first homer, an inside-the-park shot. It was an incentive he carried over for a real homer, which meant over the fence. The payouts slowed for subsequent homers. I like to pretend that’s why I only had warning-track power in high school.
Baseball, you’ve connected me to all my family. From my step-dad teaching me to throw a knuckleball and play halfball to my mom trading off cleaning my room for base hits. You’ve always incentivized me. You’re tantalizing.
But really, Baseball, you gave me the lesson that a dream can change, but it doesn’t mean it’s lost. Although I couldn’t reach the highest levels, I knew you were always in my future.
As a broadcaster, you introduced me to amazing people. One of my best friends, Erik Wilson, and I spent two fantastic summers calling baseball games and traveling.
You introduced me to a guy named Danny Will. It was through baseball and Danny that I found my way to Radford University, not knowing I would meet my future wife there.
We grew apart, Baseball, while my love for Kristin grew. But you were always on my mind. Going cold turkey wasn’t an option; I always found myself writing for digital magazines or other baseball websites. My life with you, Baseball, didn’t work out because you were never able to provide everything I needed.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but our love has rekindled over these last two years. Writing for Foul Territory has been incredibly rewarding and freeing. You helped me find my bride, who grew up thousands of miles away, in a random town hundreds of miles from both our homes. This year, though, because of that connection, I have my first child, Josie, in my arms. It’s surreal, and it’s because of you.
You have given me more than I could ever give in return. I write this letter as a thank you. My public display of affection is not meant to embarrass you, but to give you the respect you deserve on this day of emotional bonds.
The last thing I ask of you, Baseball, is that you bring just a fraction of the blessings to my daughter that you’ve bestowed upon me.
Love always,
Mike
