Ode to the Boys of Summer

I have a complicated relationship with baseball. In its purest form I love and adore baseball. I love the smell and feel of both ball and glove. I find holding a baseball to be very soothing. I come by it honestly. My mother and at least one of her brothers were devoted to the game. I remember her talking about Mike and one of the Eimer boys playing in the yard for hours and she would always try to play too. That's how she got that black eye that one time. Uncle Mike had piles of those statistics books around the house. He died before we could talk him into Fantasy Baseball. I bet he would have been awesome at it.

My mom is the one who taught me how to throw a ball properly. She had quite the arm. She would play catch with me when I could get her to stop for a second. Mom was the ultimate fan of the St. Louis Cardinals. If she could not get the game on TV she would have her earphone plugged into the transistor radio. She would nap on and off but she caught every game she could and when I moved to Springfield to go to graduate school she would call me with score updates.The Cardinals were her escape when she retired and had to deal with dad 24/7.

One of my best friends growing up was Michael and he and I would play catch for hours. I loved going to watch his games. Girls weren't allowed to play baseball back then and softball was a poor substitute so I quit that pretty early on. I loved going out to Municipal Park and hanging out at the ball fields. That was the place to be in the 70's let me tell you. It was packed all summer long with families and kids and the sounds of baseball and summer and community.

When I could not spend time with Michael, his mother hated me quite frankly, I would spend hours playing with my pitch back or throwing a tennis ball up on the roof and catching it. You had to be resourceful when you had no siblings. Sometimes the neighborhood kids would get together and we would go down the block and play in an empty field. No one died. It was awesome! 

When I was in undergraduate school I developed a secret and forbidden passion for the Chicago Cubs. You see I took morning classes and so would be home in the afternoon. Back in the 80's the Chicago Star Tribune owned both the Cubs and WGN so they aired all the Cubs and most of the White Sox games. The Cubs always played their home games at 1:30 in the afternoon. I would sit in my bedroom and work on my homework while watching the games and developed a soft spot for them that remains to this day.

My mother was not best pleased but she loved me too much to ostracize me over my misguided ways. I am sure she thought it was a phase I would grow out of one day. But that lingering love for the Cubs has stuck with me. It ebbs and wanes with whatever is going on in my life but it's always there lurking. One of my most favorite experiences ever was going to Wrigley Field in 1997. It was April and it was cold and the Cubs had started the season 0-10 and it only got worse from there but I was in heaven. I loved every freezing cold, lousy, losing minute. I wonder whatever happened to that guy that got smacked in head with a ball during batting practice. He was concentrating on his nachos and it was not pretty. I will never forget the sound.It was and is a magical place.

In the last 20 years or so baseball has done its level best to destroy itself. It started with the ridiculous salaries and peaked with rampant steroid/HGH era. The games are too long and the pitching changes ridiculous. The uniforms and the players have become clownish at times. I mean you run the gambit from the traditional short pants and stirrup socks to tailored uniforms to these ridiculous pajama pants they wear nowadays. Those have really got to go. And for God sakes can you please look the like the professionals you are supposed to be and not like you have just come in from the woods and thrown on whatever you could find and hit the field. It's insulting to the game and the fans to come out on the field looking like you just rolled out of bed. Jason Werth I am looking at you dude. For all the good instant replay has done on the bases you still cannot find umpires who have any concept of a strike zone. Sometimes it's so laughable that you have to wonder if they are betting on the spread. Please MLB get a grip and save yourself before you become an afterthought to the NBA. I can't include the NFL because they are doing a fine job killing themselves.

All that being said the Cubs finally winning the World Series has brought some joy to this year of political insanity, violence and social media hell. I cursed at the TV, I called Joe Maddon all sorts of unattractive names, I had a major temper tantrum during game 7 and I cried and danced for joy when they finally found a way to win despite their manager. Congratulations Cubbies!!! And thank you for reminding me why I love the game in its purest form. I may not always like the package the professionals are presenting but at its core is a love for the game the way it was meant to be played.