Yes, I love my wife.
Yes, I love my kids.
But I must confess. I have another love. One which may not compare to the love for my family or my God but love nonetheless.
I must admit, I love baseball. That’s right, America’s national past-time. I’ve been a fan for as long as I could remember. It is my Jerry Maguire. Baseball “had me at hello.”
I remember my then ninety year old great grandfather, “Pop,” chanting “Let’s Go Mets! Let’s Go Mets!” He didn’t just do this around family, but rather would take daily walks around his New York neighborhood and into the local McDonald’s chanting those three little words throughout. To me, those three little words were the beginning of a life long love affair. Because I was born in the area and adored my Pop endlessly, I became a Mets fan. Yup, a little hat-wearing, glove-bearing Bambino of a Mets fan.
My infatuation with the Mets lasted but a few years since South Florida, where I grew up, received their own Major League team. At 11 years old, I quickly became a Florida Marlins fan which I have remained ever since. Through the years, I watched many games on TV, bought a few “authentic” caps, and went to the stadium numerous times to watch the team play.
But then something unspeakable happened. I moved away to college. No longer was I a hop, skip, and a jump away from catching my favorite players play my favorite game. I never lost interest but I knew my love for the team and the game could never be the same. There I was, a rapid, fire-breathing baseball fan, living in a city known for their spectacular college football team (Go Gators!)
Funny how things change. When the idea came up that we should spend our vacation down in South Florida, what was the first thing I did? I checked the Marlins’ schedule of course. I was determined to go to a game and bring my wife with me since she never had the good fortune to experience such a wonderful event. So we went, on our anniversary in fact. It had been nine years since I last went to a Marlins game. George W. Bush was just barely running for the Presidency at the time.
And we had fun! The Marlins lost but we had fun.
You hear (well, I do) stories where people start with “I remember when my father took me to a baseball game.” I actually do remember going with my Dad and will hopefully do so forever. Now its my turn. I can introduce my children to the greatness of baseball. Who says girls can’t enjoy a good ball game? They might be a bit young at the moment, but they could grow to love it.
So we took our littlest Fussbucket to the game with us.
We left the bigger one at home. She might have been a little too hard to handle while trying to enjoy the game. Plus, when you’re sitting with thousands of other fans, no one really cares to be disturbed by a screaming, toddling two year old. Granted, a good portion of those people were probably intoxicated but we left her home just to be safe.
I took everything in. The bright lights, the smell of the freshly cut grass, the sounds of cheering fans, and the tastes of an overpriced hot dog and nachos. I loved every moment of it. My love affair with baseball was back. Even my non-baseball loving wife enjoyed the festivities.
Now, I’ve probably written far too much about baseball than you care to read. But I cannot help it. It is truly my favorite past-time. One that can be enjoyed by the whole family. That is unless you have a Fussbucket. Use your own judgement as whether to bring them or not.
