I believe in America’s past time. The game that involves sunflower seeds, sunny afternoons, crowded bleachers, laughing and talking.
I believe in baseball. It’s a smart game of strategy and patience that can easily be related to life’s happenings. The game brings family and friends together to relax and enjoy the day. There is nothing like a huge hotdog and garlic fries at a Giants game in mid July, or having bleacher butt on the oh-so-unforgiving bleachers. You can’t help but love to see the five old men sitting three rows down that you know have been season ticket holders together for decades.
I believe in the rivalries and the superstitions. Like Giants will always hate Dodgers, and the never ending tension between the Yankees and Red Sox. And don’t dare leak out “There’s a no hitter”, or try to catch a pending home run.
I believe that all big leaguers are just little boys who have a unique passion for the game. That baseball has extended these guys’ childhoods from t-ball memories up. I believe there is no season like baseball season.
I started to believe one afternoon at a Giant’s game with my dad when he leaned over and told me to stop talking and to listen carefully. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, and he asked again, “What do you hear?” I could hear a soft hum throughout the whole crowd. He explained to me how this was his favorite part about the game. People were enjoying each others company and talking amongst themselves while watching. You see, it’s not like football, or basketball where it is so quick, intense and loud that you can’t take in everything around you. You can’t study the game, or get to know the person next to you.
I believe that this beautiful game is underrated. Nothing irritates me more than when someone says that it’s boring. I always want to tell them that they think that because they don’t know the game. How can they say it’s boring when it is the bottom of the 9th, bases loaded, two outs, full count, and the game is tied? How could I get bored constantly trying to figure out what carefully planned out pitch is coming next? Or if the runner is going to steal second, or even home?
I believe if you just watch carefully and listen, you find yourself wishing there’s no end to this past time.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.