For the Love of the Game

As I watched the last part of the Ken Burns' "The Tenth Inning" it struck me how baseball is, in it's most basic sense, a marriage between game and fan. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

It is a ceremony in which we said "I do" the first time we smelled the glove's leather, or slid into second, or cheered on a teammate. We were smitten the first time we walked into the stadium, the first hot dog we ate with the mustard running down our sleeves, the first day the sun beat down on us relentlessly. We were drawn in by our father, or our mother, our big brother or our sister.

We committed knowing there would be bad times. When the bad times came, when the sport seemed sick we did not abandon it. When our team disappointed we did not seek another. We didn't commit for the moment, but for all the moments.

When the good times arrived there were sights and sounds that made us not only thrill in the instant but also seemed to connect us to the first catch with our dads or the first radio broadcast we listened to and imagined the arc of the winning home run. We fell in love day after day and year after year.

As players came and went, as scandals created headlines, as stadiums got torn apart, we remained steadfast. For me, and others like me, baseball was and is, not a game but a feeling. 'Til death do us part.