My boss brought in a leftover barbecued hot dog last week. Mustard, chopped onions, he sat there and said “doesn’t that make you think about baseball?” and he was right.
There are a thousand things I miss about baseball: The crack of the bat, the runner off with the pitch. Trout’s greatness, Buttrey’s fastball, and Fletcher’s all out love for the game.
But then there are the things I really miss about baseball: a few hours away from life’s madness with my family and friends, eating a hot dog, sharing a helmet sundae with my son. (For an otherwise pretty healthy guy, I do some damage at ballgame.) The rhythm of a game on TV, in the background but not requiring my rapt attention.
“Music is the space between notes” was said by the great Claude Debussy. Same thing with baseball. And it is that space that I miss most.
The physical space of the ballpark, being outside, seeing the sunset. Yes, that is nice. But the space between pitches, between innings, even between meaningful action. That space, where you talk to the people in your life, maybe take a lap around the concourse to stretch out a bit. That space, it is relaxing in a way little else in life is, on TV or at the yard.
When my parents visit during the season, we generally catch a game. Without fail, my mom will say “there’s nothing better than cracking peanuts, drinking a beer, and eating a hot dog at a ballgame.” (You can see where I get it from, ha ha). And she’s right.
We had planned on doing just that at the Freeway Series game on March 22nd. Three generations at the ballpark enjoying a night out. My mom giving my son just a little more junk food than I’d want, me pretending to really care, and the family bonding. I miss that.
Over the holidays I learned that somehow my grandmother has never been to Opening Day. That was going to change this year. Another great memory with a her is now postponed indefinitely. You just can’t have enough great memories with Nana.
Baseball is a very small part of this global pandemic, a distraction, and that is obvious. There are a lot of reasons fans are missing baseball. Parents are missing their kids play, coaches are missing opportunities to impact young lives. But ultimately, for me, the thing I miss most about baseball is the thing I miss most in general: time with family.
Like a lot of fans, baseball is something that just runs through my family. You learn your aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents favorite teams not long after you learn their names. In my family, Easter is spent with the Dodgers fans and Giants fans ribbing each other, them both ribbing me, and talk of the upcoming season or games of old. I missed that talk this year.
Fortunately I did get to go to Spring Training this year. My dad and a very close cousin joined my family out there for a few games. I had my hot dog (Chicago style one night, bacon wrapped Sonoran another) and talked to my dad (Giants) and cousin (Dodgers). My son (Angels, ha ha) had a blast .
That trip was everything I love about baseball. And everything I miss.
I miss the nightly and daily chatter of Terry Smith and Mark Langston on MLB audio. For six months, Angels baseball is part of my daily routine. Throw in a trip to a Pioneer League park to see the Orem Owlz and a trip to Anaheim or Seattle to see the Angels play in person and my summer is complete. While I have been frustrated with the Angels poor play the last few seasons, I totally miss it. Waiting for my Angels’ face mask to arrive so I can return to work and public life in style. Go Angels!
Got the upcoming MLB Draft coming up.
Hopefully Turks Teeth has some interesting insights.
Always liked sitting in the stands before the game. The green field, the red shirted fans filing into the seats, the anticipation. The camaraderie of the fans around you trading stories. I miss it all. The sounds, the smells, the first sight of the entire field when you walk through the tunnel to the walkway (I’m a view level denizen from way back).
Definitely. And I love the national anthem before a ballgame when I’m there.
Is there anything more beautiful than a baseball field with freshly cut grass and a clay infield that has just been sprinkled with water? The first time that I walked into the Big A, I gasped at the beauty of the field.
Not much. That view never gets old.
There is something rhythmic and poetic about baseball, especially if the announcers know what they are doing. I was fortunate to grow up listening to Vince Scully describing the game of baseball. It was one of the few activities I did with my father, so there is a familial dimension to watching a game. Engaging in a communal activity with people who have a shared interest is invigorating and memorable. I am not sure that I could watch a game by myself, it would be as though something was missing. Thank you for the well-written article which encapsulates many of our shared feelings, Jeff.
Thank you. Listening to Vin Scully was one of the few things I’d done with my grandfathers that I still did as an adult. Hearing him could make me almost feel back home. I could smell the fresh cut hay, the recently watered orchards.