Some of my most treasured childhood memories involve baseball. Like most kids in America I played, and while I was marginal at best, I played a lot. I played with the neighborhood kids in impromptu pickup games that ran through the summer evenings. I played at school on the playgrounds during recess. I played on an organized team in Teeny and Little League for 5 years. And I watched Major League Baseball on TV whenever I got the chance. Growing up where I did, baseball was everywhere.
My favorite memory is watching fall ball with my dad. It was always fun to watch baseball with my dad anyway, but since they only televised games on Saturday or maybe Sunday afternoon we could only watch games on the weekend. However, when the playoffs rolled around in the Indian Summer, baseball would come on every afternoon for a glorious two to three week period. Mom would pick us up from school, and as we pulled in the driveway I could see my Dad’s car already home: the playoffs had begun! We would sit down together in front of the TV, my homework excused until later, and we would watch baseball until dinner, and it was the best. I could not even tell you which teams were playing, but it didn’t matter: I was watching baseball with my dad.
Well, fall ball is back. My sons and I are geared up and ready to go, especially since our team (go Cardinals!) made it into the wildcard spot. Their first game is Saturday, so we have our calendars marked, the DVR is set, and it’s time to “Play Ball!”. And even if they get knocked out of the race, that’s ok: it’s still baseball, it’s still the fall, and what could be better than that?