Baseball

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Whoever felt it was a good idea have the end of election season and the World Series coincide was a terrible person. Yesterday I did get to take the day off, though it was for a memorial service, and I had to put up with my crazy family, so I wouldn't actually call it much of a day off. However, I was able to catch the last game of the 2012 World Series, which despite the outcome of the game, made it a good day. 

Watching organized sports isn't a top priority of mine, but when I do sit down and watch a game of baseball; the world slows down, and things just feel a little more right in the world. My dad explains it that this love for the sport ingrained in me just merely from being an American, and I think he's right to an extent. I'm not saying that not caring about baseball is Un-American, but I'm sort of saying that.

Softball Team Photo: 1997

My favorite book is John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany, though you may already know this if we've ever talked about literature. Baseball is a central component of the novel and Owen, one of the main characters, adores baseball. For him it's the beauty of the sport. I agree with Owen Meany on many things, and that there is an underlying beauty to the sport of baseball is one of them.

My first baseball game was on Fourth of July after spending the day swimming at my cousins' house, my parents and I went to an Angels' game. I was four. 

As a child I was what one would call a girly-girl. I liked wearing dresses and Disney princesses. I was very sensitive to what I referred to as boy-toys. However, two of my favorite toys were my plastic baseball bat and a Velcro baseball glove. The glove was pink though.

My dad, who is only blessed with one daughter, steered me towards softball. I played from first through third grade, but it was obvious I was not going to be big enough to compete with the girls as time went on.

My dad was heartbroken when I quit softball. It was actually kind of pathetic the way he moped around the house, when spring came that first year after I stopped playing.

I continued to play with the neighborhood boys. This didn't make my best friend happy when I was getting more attention from the boys.

Now, after I've just gushed over baseball, I won't admit to being an expert or a baseball buff. I don't follow stats, players, or who is being traded where. I for the most part know which teams are in which league, which I think is a good start. I do follow who's doing well throughout the season.

As for my team allegiance, have and always been an Angels fan. An Anaheim Angles fan for the record; they are not a Los Angeles team and any such thinking is just offensive. In moving to San Diego, I have almost completely shed my Orange County roots, but I can't shake the Angels. Seriously, the Padres?

For sake of bookending my post, I will bring it back to this year's world series. Last week I enjoyed being in the campaign office until all hours because I had access to a TV. However, the outcomes of the games were pretty depressing. I chose to root for the Tigers for a few reasons. First, I find the Giants to be a bandwagon team, and I don't like bandwagon teams. Second, a particular co-worker who drives me nuts is a Giants fan, and thirdly, poor Detroit, what else do they have going for them? They at least deserve a World Series.