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… 15th 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 20th 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.