I know a lot of you feel that watching baseball is about as exciting as watching grass grow and don’t understand my and many others rabid passion for the game especially the World Series. I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s when baseball was the national pastime. The world stopped when the World Series was played and many games were played in the afternoon and if it was a school day, a tv (old box type, maybe 19”) was rolled into the cafeteria to watch the game while all classes stopped. Everyone had a favorite team and player (mine being the Yankees and Mickey Mantle). We started organized play in Little League (8-12 years old) and when team uniforms were issued you hoped you got your heroes number. All of us thought we were better than we really were and were destined to be stars in pro ball. We would suit up hours before games and be in denial (keeping our uniform on) if our games were rained out. If we weren’t playing organized ball we would play sandlot games between neighborhoods. When it got too dark for hard ball, we would play whiffle ball under street lights. Our world revolved around baseball and that excitement has never left me. Today I’m excited for every pitch, hit and play critiquing each, some with a flurry of expletives. It’s the only game that you can fail more than win by striking out 7 out of 10 times and getting hits just 3 times out of the 10 at bats and be a star, with a 300% batting average-considered an amazing feat in baseball. Baseball is my escape to a simpler world of balls, strikes, hot dogs and beer
