Someday, I’ll share my own experience of growing up loving baseball. It was sparked by my older brother taking me to Crosley Field to see the Cincinnati Reds play when I was not yet five.
Those of you who share a love for this game will appreciate this reflection by a man who normally is passionate about stats and the theory of the game.
When I watch games today, I obsess about game theory, managerial decisions, and advanced statistical evaluations. Today, I saw the game through the lens of my childhood once again. The Rays fell behind early, but instead of lamenting about batting average on balls in play, we cheerfully partook in chants of “Let’s Go Rays!” and “Charge”. We bought cotton candy, and cracker jacks, and sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”. I watched my daughter light up dancing in the aisle between innings and cheerfully doing her batter introductions. For the first time I was able to appreciate Raymond and the Rays Team through the eyes of my daughter. I witnessed how they brought the game to life for a three year-old. Balloon makers in the concourse and kiddie games made a nice mid-game break to recharge my daughter’s patience battery. Finally when the game was over after an hour’s wait, I was able to run alongside my daughter around the base path following the game as she positively was glowing. It’s been a long time since I’ve noticed so little detail about a game, yet I can’t remember having so much fun (Game 7 of the ALCS not withstanding).
It strikes me in reading this, that just about any passion we bear into adulthood was sparked by someone around us passing on that passion to us when we were young. (For a secondary witness, this.) We who are older, take note.