I think it’s time we took a little break from professional editorials and talked about what this game actually means to its fans. While I’ll obviously never be Derek Jeter, it’s safe to say my decision to put on the mitt had a profound impact on my life. Watching the MLB and getting to experience the game in its full glory will always be something that I hold near and dear to my heart.

For the Love of the Game

For those who have played the game of baseball, they understand that it is not merely a matter of numbers and outs, rather it is a lifestyle. When you step on the diamond, you don’t just take the field, you take on the persona of America’s Pastime. Having recently graduated from high school, I knew my time on the diamond was limited. Being 5’8 and a buck sixty soaking wet with a concussion history, my dreams of playing past high school were diminished. Last Thursday I went out on the field for my last matchup of my season in a rec league, which would be my last game. I played in only five games this year, but it was a far cry better than missing the whole last season. I went 2 for 3 while stealing four bags on the night. Team-wise we took the victory and the league’s season championship. Storybook ending for the comeback, right? Well, it’s not that simple. Running in from center field that last time was a bittersweet moment; more bitter than sweet.

That last inning was a replay in my mind of all the times baseball was there for me. All the times I celebrated in victory, the times I cried when it turned its back on me, and all the times it was the only thing I had to look forward to when I was bullied at school; they all ran through my head in a quasi-cliche kind of way. When I was younger I used to dream of playing alongside the league’s best and hopefully becoming one of them. Countless hours in the cages, thousands of swings, and that beautiful sound of leather pop while playing catch. See, to me, baseball is so much more than just a game. It’s the feeling of leaving everything behind once you cross the chalk lines. It’s the feeling of relying on eight different guys you consider your brothers. It’s the feeling of superstition and having your “spot” when your team is rallying from behind (come on you know you do it too).

Even outside of my playing days, baseball has always been a staple. It was a connection to my late grandfather that I never met and the reason why I became a Cardinals fan. It was the first thing my brother and I would do the first day of summer recess. We would grab the bikes and head up to the fields for grounders and derbys. It was even at a professional baseball game that I fell in love with the most beautiful girl in the world in the bottom of the 5th inning. I was never into baseball for the potential millions of dollars to be had, I was never in it for the “cleat chasers,” and I was certainly never in it because I was lazy. I was in baseball for the love of the game and for the moments from playing catch in the front yard with my 5 inch Derek Jeter model glove all the way through to my last at-bat… which was a strikeout.

But hey, at least I went down swinging.

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