10:06 AM
John Briese
In a time when Football, the sport that has indisputably become the most popular in our country, is in such turmoil; I take a chance to look at our former National Pastime, the great sport that is Baseball. It is a sport that has been handed down to us from our Fathers, Grandfathers, Uncles, and brothers, and a sport that we will undoubtedly hand down to children of our own. It is the mythical creature that was Babe Ruth, the ferocious hated bastard that was Ty Cobb, and Lou Gehrig, quite possibly the greatest man to ever live. It helps shape our lives and bond us together like nothing else. As it becomes more difficult in the impatient world we live in for people to enjoy a game that possesses more time standing and waiting then moving action, those of us who have loved it all along just gaze and wonder how someone couldn’t love such a magnificent and wonderful sport. My Dad introduced me to baseball probably while I was still in the womb. I still remember being six years old and watching Kirk Gibson’s home run in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series with him at my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I remember being so happy to see the joy on his face in excitement for the Dodgers, the team he had loved when he was younger. Years later I got to see that same joy when Brad Lidge struck out the last batter of game 4 of the 2004 NLCS at home in Houston. I had a few hundred dollars left from my student loan refund check that I was supposed to spend on my rent that October, but instead went on EBay and bought two tickets for $150 apiece. Best money I’ve ever spent. The experience we had at the ballpark that day, and seeing his face after that last strikeout was worth any price (even though two weeks later I was back on EBay selling my Scotty Cameron putter to avoid eviction). We’ve had countless other memories that stack up to that one like being at Fenway the weekend Ted Williams passed away, or at Wrigley for my first rain delay ever at the age of 21 (the Astrodome didn’t allow for many rain delays). The Chicago fans must have thought that I was nuts, not only because I was sporting an Astros hat and talking about how great it was that they were in first place at the time during a Cubs/Cardinals game, but also because I threw up my hands in excitement the second the downpour started. I felt like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, although I probably just looked like an idiot standing in the rain.
These memories and countless more all revolve around baseball. Whether I was six years old hitting the ball off of a tee or 29 and taking my wife to the ballpark, baseball has always been there. It was there in the afternoons when I came home from school to turn on WGN and watch Harry Caray, and it’s there now when I drive home to Houston and listen to Milo Hamilton, making me feel like I’m 10 years old again. Memories throughout my life have been connected by baseball whether it was actually involved or not. Last year while playing a baseball trivia game on Father’s Day weekend with my Dad I laughed at the fact that every question he answered had a story with it. “Well I remember that summer because I had just begun coaching your Uncle Ron’s team, man we had a kid on that team named Danny, you should have seen him…” We would eventually cut in and say “DAD, what’s the answer?”, and he would reply “oh, Vida Blue”. I’ve realized though that not only do I possess his uncanny ability to remember obscure baseball references, but I also have a story with almost every question. My wife will ask me something and get a response like “that October was crazy, Game 7 of the World Series and Josh Beckett was pitching for the Marlins; I was in a bar in San Antonio wearing my ‘Yankees Suck’ T-shirt I bought outside Fenway and was getting eyeballed by a guy in a Derek Jeter jersey that was twice my size. It was cool though, by the end of the game even though the Yankees lost; him and I played a couple of games of pool together and had a good time”. My wife will reply with an “OK Chuck (my Dad’s name) but you never answered my question”. When I try to think of something in the past, my immediate response is to think of who was in the World Series that year, and I can tell you exactly where I was and what I was doing at the time. It has connected the pieces of my life thus far, and will continue to do so until I’m gone. I know I can count on it year in and year out to fill my life with joy and sometimes frustration (well a lot more than sometimes with the current Astros) and that no matter what I do it will always be there for me. I don’t know where I will be 10, 20, or 30 years from now; the only thing I know is that I will have my wife, my thinning hair, and baseball.
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