Over the past year here at Born Bleeding, I have posted over 40 blogs. With the one year anniversary coming up on Saturday, I thought I would ask my friend and fellow blogger, Aimee Whetstine from Everyday Epistle to write something for me. Aimee is no baseball expert but after reading what she wrote, she did an outstanding job with the baseball assignment I gave her. I hope you all enjoy.
Baseball was invented in America. At least according to Albert Spalding.
There’s no debate about basketball. It was undisputedly invented in America in 1891 at the YMCA Training School in Springfield, Massachusetts by instructor James Naismith, a Canadian. But we don’t say “as American as mom, apple pie, and basketball.” We say baseball.
I’ve lived in three proud baseball towns so far.
The first was Detroit. I was too young to remember the Tigers. My father, however, remembers. He tells stories of a time long gone. A time when Tigers fans would walk to games at Tiger Stadium or “The Corner” from their neighborhoods the way fans in Chicago walk to Wrigley Field.
Chicago was my second baseball town. All good Cardinals fans know who plays there.
My husband and I lived in Chicago during a very good time for Chicago sports. Michael Jordan and the Bulls dominated the NBA. From our apartment, we heard guns firing across the city the night of their sixth consecutive championship. By summer, Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire were duking it out on the diamond in their Home Run Race.
We took the Red Line to Wrigleyville for games. The neighborhood feel of Wrigley Field made major league baseball accessible to me. It was like sitting with a few thousand of my neighbors watching the home team play. Authenticity trumped glitz and the result was magical.
But what do I know? I enjoy baseball, same way I enjoy soccer, basketball, football, swim meets, and the Olympics. I’m not a hardcore, rabid fan, but I can cheer with the best of them.
The secret to guaranteeing your major league sports teams win championships is simple: offer my husband or me a job we can’t refuse and we’ll relocate. Like lucky charms for hire.
When my son was old enough, we rode the train to the stadium and stopped to admire Stan Musial’s statue, even though there wasn’t a game that day. Then last year, I saw Mark McGwire pumping gas into his car at the same place in University City where I filled up my car. No words I could write will do the moment justice.
“There he is!” I said to my son who was with me. “There’s Big Mac!”
Apart from the scandal and grand juries, Mark McGwire is still beloved by the Lou. Despite the trades and tiffs, so is Albert Pujols.
See, it’s like family, the fans and the teams. We squabble among our own, but we pull together to fight competitors. There are heroes and villains. The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Memories and legacies to pass to children who sing Take Me Out to the Ballgame as soon as they can speak.
One, two, three strikes you’re out at the old ballgame!
What could be more American than that?
How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers live together in harmony! Psalm 133:1 NLT
Put me in coach I’m ready to play today… Centerfield by John Fogerty with classic baseball footage you’ll love. I promise!
Who’s your team? Who’s your favorite player? What’s your best baseball memory?
Thanks again Aimee. Please remember to go visit Aimee over at everydayepistle.com