Baseball is a game about going home. And in that way at least, it is a game that mirrors everything, because everything in life is about going home again. It is about leaving home, and going out to a place where home is far away, and then doing the things you must to get home again, some of them simple and routine, some of them occasionally heroic and glorious.

(from The Game: One Man, Nine Innings, A Love Affair with Baseball)

I have a love affair with baseball. I can’t remember a summer in my life when baseball didn’t play some kind of a role. Baseball is a religion to me. It is about warm summer days with the sun shining bright above us, the soft, sweet-smelling green grass below us. Chalk lines are drawn and the dirt is tapped down. It is perfection at its best.

I watched every minute of the 2001 World Series. I love the Diamondbacks. All acounts say that the men on that team are some of the genuinely nicest guys you could meet. They give back to the Phoenix area constantly.

My long-shot love affair, though, belongs with the Cubbies. I cheer them on every year.

When I was a kid, I was crazy about the Dodgers. I could tell you the stats for that team inside and out. I knew everyone’s name, their position, their averages, their ages, their marital status, how many kids, etc. I knew everything about them.

I would go to the Padre’s AAA league team’s (The Las Vegas Stars) games as much as I could. I NEVER missed an exhibition game when the Padre’s came to town. There was nothing like sitting out in left field on the grass and watching baseball. Nothing in the world is like that.

When the team changed, though, so did my alliances. I moved on to the beloved Cubbies and they now share that position with the D’backs.

I do not favor the American League. My heart is with the National League completely. I cannot imagine why someone would want to play a game where your strongest AND weakest players don’t play. I love it when I can cheer a pitcher getting on base. I want to know he’s a well-rounded player. I want to know that he will take it as well as he gives it.

I get teary-eyed when I think of the Boys of Summer. I remember the days of my youth when I would yell at the Reds or scream at the Dodgers…when Reggie Jackson was one of the best and Pete Rose was still playing with his heart…when the Yaz was the epitome of what baseball was about and Steve Garvey gave me inspiration to be a better first base player.

The click of the lights, the smell of popcorn, beer, and hotdogs filling the air as the crowd slowly winds up for the exciting game ahead never fails to entice me.

Take me out to the ballgame,
Take me out to the park…