It’s opening day here in Detroit.
There’s something about baseball that makes it so much more attractive than any other sport to me. Perhaps it’s the fact that a family of four can actually afford to go to a game without taking out a personal line of credit. Or maybe it’s the fact that even though the game moves rather slow (in comparison to other sports), the fate of a team can turn on a dime. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s something about those summers of youth spent in the stands of old Tiger Stadium, the smell of Ball Park franks filling the air, and the voice of Ernie Harwell on a transistor radio.
Baseball breeds hope. It deals in big memories. I’ll never forget being at Comerica Park when the 2006 Tigers won the ALDS against the Yankees. I’ll always remember seeing a triple play from the bleachers with my brother. I’ll never forget the true doubleheader at Tiger Stadium against the White Sox spent with my dad and brother.
There’s something about baseball that makes it so accessible, yet still so opulent and sacred. The memories. The superstitions. The curses. The surprises. The streaks. It all gets wrapped up in this uber-American sport. Baseball is unique because it’s the international melting pot that we all are meant to be. We get 162 games with a team each year to bring us closer to unity. Sometimes the stands are empty and the joy is found off the field. But some magical years the race to a division title is firmly within your reach.
Loyal fans of baseball, unite. Reach out to those would-be fans. Embrace the game that gives us hope. The game of Ruth. The game of Robinson. The game of Aaron.
The game of you.
The game of me.
…and welcome another season back onto the field.
And if you want more baseball reading, check out this amazing column about the ability of baseball to take you back in time while enriching your present and future.
If you need proof that baseball is the best sport around, how about this recent article from The New Republic about how baseball is the least exploitative sport.