I like baseball. No, I love baseball. There is something about the rhythm and cadence of the game that I find intox - icating. The ebb and flow of the action, the smell of fresh cut grass and old leather, the crack of a ball as it meets the bat, even the crunch of peanut shells under foot at the ballpark, these things, and more, have always attracted me to the sport.
My love affair with baseball began in elementary school. From the early days of spring, until school let out for the summer, my friends and I spent every recess furiously engaged in America’s favorite pastime.
When school was out, while spending most of my time repairing and re-building bicycles in the outdoor shop behind our house, I remember listening to Vin Scully broadcast Dodger games to the neighborhood (Mrs. Wil liams, who lived up the street, had her radio positioned next to an outdoor PA system so she could hear games when she worked outside – we all got to listen). Fast forward to today… I still love baseball, and I have one child, my youngest daughter, who feels the same way. We root for a number of teams. Our beloved Texas Rangers are at the top of the list. We also have a soft spot for those bearded boys from Boston, the Red Sox.
