Let me start by saying that I've never been a huge baseball fan. I follow it, like I do many sports, and if asked I could tell you who the good teams and players are. But as for the game itself, I'm not overwhelmed. I fulfilled my obligatory duty as an American Boy and played two years of Little League, but baseball and I parted under mutual consent- we were both okay with me finding other sports to play. I've never really looked back and wished for more out of baseball, it just wasn't that big of a deal for me.

That obviously isn't the case for many people, though. I know lots of folks that live and die with their favorite teams, and identify with their home states and cities by their baseball team more than any other facet. My father-in-law is a huge Yankees fan, and can recite statistics from all their championship seasons in the past 50+ years. My next door neighbor is from Chicago, and a huge Cubs fan. Not so many championship memories for him though, but he is a fan none the less. And on it goes. I'm sure you know some rabid baseball fans also, they are out there...everywhere. But why is that, exactly? What is it about baseball, more than any other sport in America, that seems to have this significance in people's lives? I think that yesterday, I started to understand a little bit.

In my continuing career at the concession stands at the AAA ballpark, I worked the Memorial Day game yesterday. It was an afternoon game, and there was a good crowd; lots of families, grandparents, kids, all out for a nice day at the park. It was pretty typical for a weekend day game, at least for me.

But as I talked to customers during the game, I found out typical really didn't describe it. Calling it just a baseball game would be like a sketch, as black and white as the letters you are reading, with 9 men playing for each team, 9 innings, 3 outs per side per inning. The color was provided by the people who attended.

I met a Dad who was taking his son to his first baseball game. The boy, who was probably 8 or so, didn't realize that this was a big deal. But it was for the Dad. The boy wanted a hot dog, candy, drinks ,the whole works. "No son", said the Dad patiently, "first we get peanuts and crackerjack". "Why, Dad? I'm hungry."
"Because, that isn't what we do at baseball games- we get peanuts and crackerjack first."
"OK."
The boy was a bit puzzled, but having peanuts and crackerjack wasn't like carrot sticks or something really bad, so he went with it. "His first game?" I asked the Dad. "Yep!" He said proudly, and you could see in his eyes that somewhere, many years ago, his Dad had gone through the same ritual with him."Have fun!" I said, "and I will see you for hot dogs later."

Not long after a very nice woman, probably in her early sixties, came up and asked for a beer and hot dogs. "Are you having a good time today?" I asked her. "Well," she said, and she started to cry. She told me that she was there with her husband's father, who was in his 80s. He had terminal cancer, and had maybe 3 months to live. This was going to be his last baseball game. He had taken her husband to many games growing up in St Louis as a child, and they wanted to go to a game one last time. He had felt well enough to go, so here they were.
"So this is a very good day, then, isn't it?" I asked her. "Yes," she said, "it really is." She smiled, got her order, and I had one of the teenage helpers carry her food and drinks down. She came back a few times during the game, for more beers, and more snacks, and was happier and happier every time. It was a good day for that family. Maybe one of the very best days. And I know it will be a memory that gives them strength in the hard days to come.

During the seventh inning stretch, to honor the veterans for Memorial Day, they had a woman sing "God Bless America". I was at the home base grill for the day. Right in front of me, behind home plate, a group of 25-30 Vets, representing from what I saw, WWII, Korea, and Vietnam, all rose and sang right along with the singer, word for word. Do you know all the words to "God Bless America"? I'm embarrassed to say that I don't, not all of them. These Vets did. And it meant something to them to be at the ballgame on Memorial Day to sing it. I know it meant something for me to be there to hear it.

So it was an interesting and meaningful day at the ballpark. If I think back to my childhood experiences around baseball, I can tell you that likely as not, if I hear "One of These Nights" by the Eagles, or "Sister Golden Hair" by America on the radio, I will get an image in my head of baseball practice in late summer of 75, chewing on stalks of grass, standing in the outfield catching fly balls with my Hank Aaron Special Edition 715 home run mitt. Interesting. I spent thousands of hours more time on the court hoping to be the world’s best (and at the time, the shortest) world class point guard, but I can't tell you any songs that remind me of it, or a special basketball I had.

I’m not expecting that I am now going to become a huge baseball fan. But I feel like I get it a little better why going to a baseball game can mean so much to people. But maybe there is more to baseball than just the game after all. It isn’t just the game; it is a thread that runs through people’s whole lives, from generation to generation.