How I fell in (and out of) love with Baseball

Discussion created by pascalli2 on Apr 9, 2013

I hate sports.  I have since I was a child.  I was a chubby kid and i wore glasses.  They had thick frames, and just as thick of lenses.  I was every bit as clumsy as I looked.  Despite this, I made what my juvenile mind considered to be a herculean effort to participate in our national past time.  It wasn't long before the other kids stopped inviting me to play with them.  I hate sports.


My own shortcomings generated a generous portion of resentment for professional athletes.  Seeing professional baseball players on the feild in their fancy-pantsy uniforms, I swear I could detect an aura of smugness exuding from their overpaid pores.  Somehow, though, I caught the fever for a brief, yet glorious, month in 1995.  As the Mariners beat out the Yankees to break their way into the American League Championships, I suddenly felt like I had a team I could root for.  A team that nobody expected to succeed came busting onto the scene like a crazed bull in Pamplona.


The stars had aligned to put a powerhouse of players onto Seattle's team.  With a monumental pitcher like Randy Johnson, high profile hitters like Ken Griffey Jr and A-Rod, and my personal favorites, the soft spoken Edgar Martinez and baby faced Joey Cora, this was a team I could get behind.  As they won game after game, I started to read about baseball statistics and save my allowance to buy baseball cards.  For the first time, I was a fan.  Not just a fan - a number one fan.  I was with these guys no matter what.  I was the long lost brother of every Mariner.


Then the Indians knocked them out of the series.


The team that I had given my faith and my confidence, the team with whom I had deposited my hopes and dreams like some sort of emotional bank account, the team that I had championed loudly amongst all my friends, had lost.  I couldn't believe it.  The shame, the horror of it.  I don't watch baseball anymore.  I hate sports.