Monday, February 8, 1999

Slobberknocking while wondering whatever happened to Zelda Markowski:

The grass is starting to grow back in patches, but it'll be ready when the time comes. The lines started forming at 6:30 am Saturday. You can smell it in the air around Ballpark Way... Baseball season is coming, and I'm a better man for it.

I didn't use to be this way. I didn't even become a sports fan until my junior year of high school... my head was buried too far in books. The only time I paid attention to the world of professional athletics was when my church youth group would have a Super Bowl party, usually at Melissa Cambron's house.

Then, I started watching football. Easy enough to get the gist of the game. Easy enough to get into, but at that point the Cowboys were well into decline under Tom Landry, and it was hard to root for such a rootless team.

I do know when I started liking baseball. It was 1990, and I had been invited to Arlington Stadium to see Nolan Ryan pitch against the Red Sox. Not a milestone game -- unlike some people, I won't say "I was there when Nolan had his seventh no-hitter" when I was nowhere near the park. But it was pure fun to watch the people hanging on every pitch Ryan threw. The man was magic to watch... pure power with a Texas twang. I was hooked.

Since then, I've been to at least ten Rangers games a year, including their entire tenure at the Ballpark in Arlington. Don't let any of these bitter has-been sportswriters in other markets tell you differently... the Ballpark is a prime baseball facility, and is among my three favorite places to catch a game. The place just screams baseball, the way that Wrigley Field does.

My cohort Marty and I have made yearly pilgrimages to Wrigley, and were there when Ryne Sandberg hung up his glove as a Chicago Cub second baseman in 1997. Unfortunately, that was also the game that marked Harry Carey's last appearance in the broadcast booth for the Cubs. Marty got this brilliant picture of Harry leaning out of the press box during that last game, and it's a picture I'll treasure.

My father and I didn't do the traditional male bonding thing when I was growing up -- he wasn't into sports much, save NASCAR and the occasional football game. That's why Father's Day 1994 was so special for me... I took him to his first ballgame. We talked the majority of the time, something we really didn't do that often. Baseball, as one writer once put it, is paced for conversation with your friends and family, so if you think the game is too slow, work on your communication skills.

Sure, there are other memories: my mini-trip down the Eastern side of America, stopping at nine different major league parks, including Jacobs Field in Cleveland, perhaps the most beautiful park in America (that I've seen); driving all night to Houston to try and catch Sammy Sosa hit a homer in the last regular season game of the Great Home Run Chase of '98; screaming on my home phone with Marty and my cell phone with my girlfriend when Mark McGwire hit home run number 62; being a bleacher bum at Wrigley and getting razzed for being from Texas; waiting in line for Rangers playoff tickets in 1996 and appearing on every local news affiliate, ESPN, Baseball Weekly, and This Week in Baseball. That's what baseball is all about. Memories.

It's not just about great plays and stunning feats of physical prowess, but about what you were doing while those feats took place. It's no mistake that the overwhelming majority of my baseball memories include my friends and family. A shared experience is the best one of all.

People who say that baseball is a boring sport to watch have only experienced it at home on television, where all of the atmosphere is completely lost. To truly "get" baseball, you have to be sitting in the ballpark, a beverage in one hand, a hot dog in the other, screaming at a bad call or cheering a towering blast off the bat of your local hero. That's living.

Then, you might go to the next level, where you start following your team in the standings, learning how to read a MLB box score and lamenting the drop in your team's RBI totals from last season. It's not a necessary step, but not unfeasible, either.

Finally, ticket prices for major league baseball, while steadily rising due to ridiculous contracts (Kevin Brown, your table is available), are still the lowest for any professional sport. The best seat in the Ballpark -- directly behind home plate -- is $30. Try getting a 50-yard line seat at Texas Stadium for $30. I dare you.

Is baseball still America's Pasttime? Probably not. But it is my passion -- and a lot of others' as well. Marty and I will quiz each other on the reason why we love this game so. Tough to put a finger on it, but maybe this diatribe comes close.