Baseball entered my life with force in 1977, the year I turned 7. Certainly I had been to a few games before then, but my understanding of the game and knowledge of the players took off that year. I can’t precisely explain which held the most appeal: the actual unfolding of the physical game on the field, or the way the sport could be captured by numbers.
People fascinated with neither might not be able to appreciate how the two blend. Yet I’m certain there are parallels in the world of bird watching, or stamp collecting, or gardening. You develop a distinct appreciation for the physical element of your hobby, i.e, the coloring of the birds, the art on the stamps, the flowering of your plants. At the same time, your mind also basks in the minutiae unique to that hobby, i.e., the taxonomy and anatomy of the birds, the rarity and values of the stamps, and the secrets of soils and seasons in the garden.
Surely the passions we develop appeal to us best on many levels, challenging our minds, lifting our senses, and soothing our souls. So baseball was, and is, for me, something transcendent and deeply satisfying at my core. And my inability to throw far or accurately or hit a curveball did nothing to diminish its hold on me all these years since.
