FanNation

The first time I tried Cracker Jacks was the beginning of a tumultuous relationship with baseball. Before that, I'd loved it, because my daddy loved it, and because watching the games was just part of life, and going to games meant cotton candy and souvenirs. I wanted Cracker Jacks so bad because I loved singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," so by the time I was five, I was pretty sure peanuts and Cracker Jacks must be the best things ever.

Mama and Daddy finally got me some. I didn't like them. At all.

I stopped singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," because really, what was the point if I didn't actually want anyone buying me peanuts and Cracker Jacks? Maybe all this time I hadn't really wanted anyone to take me out to the ballgame either.

Of course, I did. Going to Orioles' games was an adventure. Hot dogs, soda, the Oriole bird, wearing orange and black ribbons in my hair (I was a stereotypical "sugar and spice and everything nice" little girl even at the ballpark), staying out late, and listening to my great-grandpa, or grandpa, or dad talk about going to ballgames when they were my age. Life couldn't get any better.

As I got a little older, I watched the games on tv every night, unhappy when the O's would play games on the West Coast with 10 p.m. start time, too late for me to stay up on a school night to watch. Years before I became so reliant on the Internet, I'd walk down the driveway in the mornings to get the morning paper, always disappointed when the game finished too late for the results to make it to print.

I stayed up late for games during the summer, even if I was just watching them from the living room, glued to the tv. And I was allowed to stay up for the playoff games, when the Orioles were contenders.

But when they started struggling, season after season, I didn't watch quite so much. I didn't go to quite so many games. I was too busy playing softball and, later, going to watch the Aberdeen Ironbirds play just down the road from my house. It was fun having a backyard ballpark, but after awhile, it became evident that I wasn't going to meet (read: date) any of the up and coming players, and the diet of Dippin Dots and lemonade and expensive, high-calorie stadium food got old, and the allure of going to the game wore off with the acquisition of season tickets. I could go to any game. I'd always see someone I knew. We might win, or we might lose, or we might wait out a 4 hour rain delay and then see the game go into extra innings. It just wasn't so exciting, partly because I went nearly every night for a few summers, partly because the atmosphere lacked energy, especially on hot Sunday afternoons, my favorite time to catch a game.

I went to even fewer games when I was away at college, unless you count the numerous games I sat in the press box, announcing my friends and keeping score. Baseball literally became work, not play, for me. The games felt like they dragged on and on, and I'd rather see the guys after the game than when they were on the field (unless they lost, and that happened too often to make things really exciting). Besides, my college was a lacrosse school. It was more fun to spend a Saturday night at the stadium with 1600 other fans than spend an entire Saturday afternoon on the bleachers or in the press box with baseball. Even when the lax team was struggling, there were still people to hit with sticks. The pace made it easier to stay interested.

But the Eagles said it best: "You can check out anytime you like but you can't ever leave." Even though I'm a lacrosse fan now, an admission I never dreamed I'd make, I'm starting to enjoy baseball again, too.  We've had an on-again, off-again thing for years, and even after years "off," I can still get drawn in again. There's a familiarity about it that's comforting, that just feels right.

At the local Little League Opening Day yesterday, sitting in the sun, watching my sister pitching softball, it all came back to me. I remembered when I played, looking forward to Opening Day and the beginning of another season with pristine fields, the first game, stickers on my helmet and on my face (always the girly-girl), and the promise of snowcones after the game. I didn't even realize I'd forgotten about the way the sunlight warmed the grass and the air, about the ages-old thud of the ball in the mitt, the quick, reflexive glance at the runner on second.

I'd forgotten, until this afternoon, the novelty of sunny Sunday afternoon games, even if they were just on tv. I'd forgotten running inside quickly in the summer, to keep the cool a/c air from escaping, just because I had to see the score, and lingering, just to catch one more at-bat, and then one more, and then the rest of this inning and the next, before I went back outside.

This afternoon, during the Orioles-Rays game, there were technical difficulties with the broadcast. The announcers voices stopped, and all I could hear was the crowd and the game. It was all I needed. More than peanuts and Cracker Jacks, it was the essence of the sport, and the reason that I love it.