I like baseball. I like the history, tradition and legends of the game. I like the storytelling that’s evolved around it. One of my best mother’s days (a holiday you all know I despise) was taking Mom to her first Cubs game in fifty years.
If you follow baseball at all, you heard how last Wednesday Detroit’s Armando Galarraga did what only 20 other men have done in the history of baseball, and pitched a perfect game, meaning not one single batter who came to the plate made it on base. Except he didn’t. On what should have been the last out, the umpire blew the call, and said the runner was safe.
I’m a baseball fan. It’s my only sports-vice, but it’s getting worse with age.
My son and I were watching the opening day game on the DVR, and they had an add for Sunday’s (today’s) game, which was “Kid’s opening day.” My son looked up at me with his big brown eyes and said “It’s kid’s opening day!” I looked down at him, and decided to not resist. “Do you want to go?” “Yes.”
We’re back. I’m sunburnt. In APRIL I am sunburnt. We had insanely good seats behind home plate, and we had them for one of the most stunning come-from-behind victories I’ve ever seen.
Gotta say, honestly, the Tigers did not so much win as Cleveland lost. At one point the Tigers were down 7 to 1. Then it got to 8 to 4, and the Tigers failed to do things like capitalize when Cleveland hit 2 of their batters in a row. And yet…and yet…
By the bottom of the ninth, they’d got it up to 6 to 8. With one out, they got one run. With TWO OUTS, they not only tied the friggin’ game, they loaded the bases, and then…and then…
Cleveland threw a wild pitch and it got away from the catcher and the Tigers stole home.