What does baseball mean to you

My dad used to wear a tie to work. Not the ones I know at least. I remember my dad wearing a tie because I used to wait for him after school so we could play baseball in the backyard. Down the hall, I could hear him take the change out of his pocket and drop it on his dresser before sliding on a pair of grass-stained jeans.

When he came out, he might as well have been wearing a big league uniform. It felt that way to me. The backyard is where baseball really began.

He taught me to throw and how to catch. There were ground balls and pop flies. I always wanted to be like the ball players on TV. One afternoon I was on a walk in the park with my pre-school class, holding hands and walking two by two. Across the giant lawn, I could see my dad coming towards us.

I could tell he was in a hurry. His tie was flapping behind him in the wind. T-ball turned into Little League and my dad turned into my coach. The backyard soon got too small for baseball, so we moved to the front of the house instead.

On the other side, I learned how to pitch. We would stay out there on the front lawn until it got dark or until I got frustrated, but he rarely let me quit. I was a teenager when I outgrew my dad on the baseball field. I was playing competitively both for my home team and for Team Saskatchewan. In , fresh off a divorce and a failed job relocation, I needed something, otherwise, I was literally going to be living in a van down by the river.

On a whim, I attended the IronPigs job fair, and landed seasonal work in Production. It got me through and I still do it. It is where the fans come first, kids fall in love with the game and the rich and poor have the same access to the game.

It is the baseball melting pot. A time to sit, to analyze, and to dream. To watch thunder in the distance, fireworks in the sky, and passion on the ground. A place where the irrational is beautiful. A place I really feel I belong. This is the JJ Bleday the Marlins have been looking for since they drafted him with their first-round selection in I was never a baseball fan Now, I enjoy the games The swath is so wide. Ever since I was 11 my dad has taken my brother 3 years younger and I on summer trips to watch minor league ball around the country.

Sorely missing it this year. It means amazingly affordable professional baseball with good, available seats, getting a chance to see future major league players and coaches.

And occasionally it means getting to see a scoreboard not have enough room for a big inning, like in Lancaster vs. Rancho in pic. And an occasion during one of my minor league games when dozens of carloads full of parents, players and equipment frantically exited the grounds en masse to escape the path of a tornado bearing down on the town.

It takes me back to my one year of a major league career 13 years old when I played the outfield and could throw out baserunners at will. Then Dad, after working from a. But what I remember most is how brave my dad was. Through the numerous sessions of soft-toss with plastic golf balls, the back of our shed and my bat, he never once showed trepidation of being hit with either a ricocheting ball or my aluminum bat.

Nor did he ever show hesitation of being my catcher when I needed to work on my pitching. Courageously—or stupidly, depending on how you want to label it—he never once wore equipment not even a cup when catching. Being as ingenious as every man of his generation is, he never conjured up ideas on ways to protect himself from being hit by the ball.

Even after missing the ball and getting hit in the shoulder or knee cap, or when my pitch would knock his glove back into his face, and the one occasion when a curve hit the ground a little short of his glove and careened into the area a cup would have been protecting, he never ended our practice.

He would gather himself—the length of time depending on where he was hit—and we played on. They played during the daytime in the old days. There were five cards in there and the quintessential piece of gum. I can smell it right now. True story. Baseball is Dave Debusschere pitching for the Tigers after the basketball season. He was also a forward with the Pistons. Baseball is Aaron hitting No. Both players had No. Baseball is thinking Pete LaCock had the coolest name in the league.

Baseball is eight teams in the AL and eight in the NL. No playoffs. Win pennant or go home. Baseball is Don Drysdale pitching high and tight to Frank Robinson. Low bridge! Baseball is Pete Rose running out a base on balls. Baseball is a starting pitcher completing the game. Baseball is wondering exactly when Richie Allen became Dick Allen.