I love baseball! No really. I LOVE baseball. This love resides somewhere between an obsession and being part of my heart and soul. This is why I’ve embarked on this crazy endeavor of writing a baseball blog. And yes; it’s called Chics Dig the Long Ball, but I hope the fellas will join us on this journey as well.
I heard Bob Costas say that baseball is a beautiful thing. So simple yet so true! Often baseball has felt like my religion; my opiate for the madness of the world. The ballpark is my cathedral. Walt Whitman’s words make up my Bible and Cooperstown is my promised land.
To truly understand why I wanted to write this blog, you have to understand just how deeply baseball is embedded in my aforementioned heart and soul. This may be a bit of poetic license but I believe I saw my first “ducks on the pond” before I saw an actual duck – an homage to my fraternal grandmother Mama Moon. I have vivid memories of cheering on my first young-love Michael Nelson at his little league games. Why did I want to be his girlfriend? Because he was a baseball player of course! Bucky Dent, yet another of my boys-of-summer crushes, nursed me through a horrible ear infection one Saturday in 1979. It wasn’t uncommon for my dad to check me and my best friend Sydney out of school on a beautiful spring day and cruise over to Atlanta from our hometown in Gadsden, Alabama, to cheer on our Never-Say-Die Braves at Fulton County Stadium. And I’ll never forget the first time I saw a young Cal Ripken at Memorial Stadium and immediately declared my status as an Orioles fan.
I have so many amazing memories tied to the game, but there is one very important moment in my life when baseball and fate intersected and changed my future. At a sports bar in Northville, Michigan on St. Patrick’s Day in 1999, I met the man of my dreams. Standing beside what I believed to be one of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen, I ordered a Guinness and prayed he would notice me. A small nod and not much else, and then I realized this guy was out of my league (pun intended!) Feeling a little dejected, I turned my attention to the rows upon rows of TVs that covered the walls. Baseball dominated sports news at the height of spring training. “I can’t believe how close we are to opening day,” I casually commented to no one in particular. My dream man turned his head quickly and responded, “You like baseball?” Little did I know that one of the biggest fans of the game and a devout Tigers fan had caught my comment.
We spent the rest of the evening talking baseball – including him quizzing me to see JUST how much of a baseball fan I was. Please! What was Ty Cobb’s number? Trick question! They didn’t wear numbers on their jerseys back then. Just names! He quickly figured out I was no wannabe fan-girl and the rest, as they say, is history. I still get a little weak in the knees when he spouts off some random fact about the game or accurately gives the stats of a player… from their 1965 season! My dream man for sure!
I believe in the magic of the game and not just because it brought together two people from two different backgrounds and parts of the country. Indulge me please and read the following in a James Earl Jones-like voice. Think Field of Dreams.
Baseball is a game of purity and strategy. It’s a laid-back summer afternoon with cold beer and good friends. It’s watching your team go from virtually last place to the World Series in one incredible season. It's also the heartbreak of a single inning where you watched your dreams of glory in October fade away.
Baseball is Jackie Robinson standing up and letting the world know that the strength of his bat was more important than the color of his skin. It’s the stamina of Lou Gehrig and also Cal Ripken who didn’t break his record but honored his name by maintaining the Ironman’s work ethic. It’s Greenburg, Ruth, Cobb, Mantle, Maris, Aaron, Kaline, Robinson (Brooks and Jackie), Jackson (Bo, Joe and Reggie), Murphy, Jones, Jeter and Verlander.
A baseball is nine inches in circumference, weighing five ounces with 216 stitches and yet it creates heroes, villains and legends. It’s “town ball” that became “money ball,” yet, for some us, it still maintains its air of magic and remains untainted despite controversy. The season comes in April when hope springs eternal and leaves us in October with the dying leaves and perishing dreams.
I’ll step down from my soapbox now and end my poetic diatribe.
So! Let’s do this! A blog about baseball. You know. Because there aren’t any out there already (sarcasm). But let’s give it a try. We’ll chat; we’ll debate; we’ll have guest bloggers, and in general we’ll celebrate together a game that we love.
And because I’m hoping to inspire MORE chics to learn to dig the long ball, I’ll end each blog with baseball terminology defined to educate my sisters of the OTHER coveted diamond.
With that I leave you with our first lesson.
Texas leaguer: a fly in baseball that falls too far out to be caught by an infielder and too close in to be caught by an outfielder.
See you soon! Until then swing for the fences, my friends.
P.S. Big love and thank you to my "editors" - Beth, Patti & Susan. Your talent inspires me... and made this blog better!
