I Hated Baseball

I hated Baseball. What betrayal cuts deeper than greed? So, for 12 years, I left that chewed wad in the dugout. Can you blame me? Swallowing a chaw is easier than the news that’s plagued Baseball since I started hating it. When I loved Baseball, steroids got rid of a bad case of Poison Ivy.

When I loved Baseball, my father’s company had Phillies Season tickets… 15^th row, behind Home plate. Every broker in the firm got to see 5 or 6 businessman’s specials every year. I saw the Bull hit a home run. I saw Mike Schmidt run out onto the field in a rainbow afro. I saw Steve Carlton pitch.
Philly baseball was a fast game. The Vet wasn’t a forgiving place for an aggressive third baseman. A hard liner could go in any direction if it hit a joint in the rug, or the infield boundary. Schmidt needed a fast wit as well as a fast arm to get into the Hall.
What does Barry need? A better lawyer.

Something strange happened to me the other day that’s got me rethinking my lifetime ban on baseball. I was taking some pictures of my old high school playing fields. The Germantown Friends Tigers were playing the High School of the New Church. My 20^th reunion had the nostalgia flowing freely in me, so I decided to watch a couple pitches. Perching on the first base line, I started taking pictures. Now, I loved photography after I started hating Baseball. That casual rhythm passing by a sunny afternoon bewitched me again. I’ll be there this summer, not for the stars, not even for the pretzels… I’ll be there for the baseball.