My Love Affair
I must confess. I have been in a passionate love affair for as long as I can remember. It's been going on since well before I was married, or had even met my wife.
No, it's not with another woman. No one can steal me away from Claudia.
It's with a game.
The game of baseball.
It began when I was a little boy, watching the Yankees on WPIX-TV (Channel 11) and listening to Phil Rizzuto, Bill White and Fran Healy call the game. I don't actually remember getting my first glove, but I remember that it was a Rawlings and that I used to put a ball in it and tie it with rubber bands and kick it like a soccer ball to try and soften it. Through the years it conformed to my hand, like a pair of jeans does to your body.
I used to play ball across the street from the house where I grew up. We had a small field there and I used to hit and throw and catch there.
There was the World Series in 1978. Game 3. Graig Nettles made all these spectacular plays and I wanted to be him. I wanted to be just like him.
Later, in Little League, my father was assistant coach on my team. We were White Plains' equivalent to the Bad News Bears. We hadn't had a practice before our first game -- and got slaughtered 21-0. We lost the next game 3-0. By then, my father had me playing catcher. No one else wanted to play there. It would be my position for the remainder of my playing days.
I remember defeating Murray's Army and Navy -- our league's best team -- by a score of 2-1. To this day, that was my favorite personal sports triumph.
My love affair continued with the majors as well. I learned all about statistics and read the boxscores and stat sheets in the papers. In 1984 I got mad at the Yankees for trading my favorite player, so I stopped rooting for them and rooted for Nettles' Padres instead. Wonderfully, they made it to the World Series that year. The following year, however, I was back in Yankee-Land, cheering for a new hero. Don Mattingly.
By my senior year of high school, however, the passion had waned. I was into other things by then -- girls, football, getting into trouble, and girls. Baseball took a backseat. It would remain there for several years.
What brought me back was a computer game. MicroLeague Baseball was a simple game on Commodore 64 that more or less simulated realistic games based on statistics. I played 162 games, a playoffs and a World Series with a team I had created with my friends' names (we lost the Series in six to the 1968 Detroit Tigers). The flame was rekindled.
I began watching the Yankees more -- and I found that passion again. It came back right away and stayed with me. It didn't falter, despite the strike in 1994 or the forced retirement of Don Mattingly. And I was rewarded with arguably the best dynasty in baseball history -- the 1996-2001 Yankees.
Since then, I admit my love of major league baseball is on the decline. Steroids, HGH, obscene salaries, egos and lower quality play have combined to make me feel uneasy with the majors. The idea that a Barry Bonds is about to break the home run record only makes it harder to be a fan.
The passion, however, is strong as ever.
Now it's all about little league again. My son's team is the source of my passion. Watching Jonathan hit a hard liner or hustle out a single thrills me. Seeing one of his teammates who'd struggled finally break out with a double was joyous, and the smile on his face brought tears to more than one coach's eyes. When a newcomer on the team made a catch on a fly ball (no small feat for a seven-year-old) we all ran out to him to congratulate him (he's hit two doubles and two triples since, by the way).
The passion is infectious. I gave Jonathan a big high five after he'd tripled. When I turned around, I caught my wife in the dugout (she is the dugout "mom") with tears forming.
I've rediscovered, through Jonathan and his teammates, the root of my love affair. It's not about the spoiled athletes. It's not about the big stadiums. It's not about the seven dollar hot dog or the nine dollar beer.
It's about the game.
No, it's not with another woman. No one can steal me away from Claudia.
It's with a game.
The game of baseball.
It began when I was a little boy, watching the Yankees on WPIX-TV (Channel 11) and listening to Phil Rizzuto, Bill White and Fran Healy call the game. I don't actually remember getting my first glove, but I remember that it was a Rawlings and that I used to put a ball in it and tie it with rubber bands and kick it like a soccer ball to try and soften it. Through the years it conformed to my hand, like a pair of jeans does to your body.
I used to play ball across the street from the house where I grew up. We had a small field there and I used to hit and throw and catch there.
There was the World Series in 1978. Game 3. Graig Nettles made all these spectacular plays and I wanted to be him. I wanted to be just like him.
Later, in Little League, my father was assistant coach on my team. We were White Plains' equivalent to the Bad News Bears. We hadn't had a practice before our first game -- and got slaughtered 21-0. We lost the next game 3-0. By then, my father had me playing catcher. No one else wanted to play there. It would be my position for the remainder of my playing days.
I remember defeating Murray's Army and Navy -- our league's best team -- by a score of 2-1. To this day, that was my favorite personal sports triumph.
My love affair continued with the majors as well. I learned all about statistics and read the boxscores and stat sheets in the papers. In 1984 I got mad at the Yankees for trading my favorite player, so I stopped rooting for them and rooted for Nettles' Padres instead. Wonderfully, they made it to the World Series that year. The following year, however, I was back in Yankee-Land, cheering for a new hero. Don Mattingly.
By my senior year of high school, however, the passion had waned. I was into other things by then -- girls, football, getting into trouble, and girls. Baseball took a backseat. It would remain there for several years.
What brought me back was a computer game. MicroLeague Baseball was a simple game on Commodore 64 that more or less simulated realistic games based on statistics. I played 162 games, a playoffs and a World Series with a team I had created with my friends' names (we lost the Series in six to the 1968 Detroit Tigers). The flame was rekindled.
I began watching the Yankees more -- and I found that passion again. It came back right away and stayed with me. It didn't falter, despite the strike in 1994 or the forced retirement of Don Mattingly. And I was rewarded with arguably the best dynasty in baseball history -- the 1996-2001 Yankees.
Since then, I admit my love of major league baseball is on the decline. Steroids, HGH, obscene salaries, egos and lower quality play have combined to make me feel uneasy with the majors. The idea that a Barry Bonds is about to break the home run record only makes it harder to be a fan.
The passion, however, is strong as ever.
Now it's all about little league again. My son's team is the source of my passion. Watching Jonathan hit a hard liner or hustle out a single thrills me. Seeing one of his teammates who'd struggled finally break out with a double was joyous, and the smile on his face brought tears to more than one coach's eyes. When a newcomer on the team made a catch on a fly ball (no small feat for a seven-year-old) we all ran out to him to congratulate him (he's hit two doubles and two triples since, by the way).
The passion is infectious. I gave Jonathan a big high five after he'd tripled. When I turned around, I caught my wife in the dugout (she is the dugout "mom") with tears forming.
I've rediscovered, through Jonathan and his teammates, the root of my love affair. It's not about the spoiled athletes. It's not about the big stadiums. It's not about the seven dollar hot dog or the nine dollar beer.
It's about the game.
posted by E-Luv at 1:23 PM
3 Comments:
My main man was Thurman Munson, and my love for the Yankees began in the 76 World Series, where my neighbors team, the Reds and Johnny Bench swept the Yankees. I have been hooked ever since.
Jacob started playing TBall this year and it is great fun. I hope he learns to love the game as much as i do.
I was on the Hispanic Coalition in that same league, and though Graig spelled his name wrong, he was my hero growing up, too.
When I got MicroLeague, one of the first things I did was to trade to get Nettles back. Using those Sporting News baseball guides, which had minor league stats, I was able to draw from the Yankee farm system. I often replay the 1986 season (the exact schedule).
The one flaw in Microleague is that if you get a hit, and the batter goes for 2, he always makes it. The only time a runner is thrown out at second is on a steal.
The other flaw is that the shortstop, no matter who he is, always seems to make a lot of errors even if you give him a 3 Gold Glove rating.
I still play it from time to time.
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