the admirer
They all seem to be fans of something. Ask a Nascar enthusiast who their favorite driver is and you’ll get an immediate answer. A college football devotee will proudly wear his favorite colors and loudly sing the team’s fight song. But for some, it goes beyond that. Yes, some appreciate and even love a particular sport. For me, I proudly wear the tag “The Fan” of what I believe remains America’s greatest pastime, baseball. I’m a fan of the game, and these are some of the reasons why.
When I was little, and against my mother’s will, I would listen to Atlanta Braves games under the covers with my little AM Radio. With the only earpiece on, I would listen to every last ring or fall asleep trying. Night after night, and many miles away, that little boy calmly rooted for his favorite team. Although my alarm clock never showed me any compassion the next morning at six in the morning, it never stopped my nightly ritual of being “The Amateur”.
Staying up until one in the morning to hear your favorite team lose, not uncommon in those days, is just one example of being “The Fan.” In fact, that could even be considered borderline fanatic, which is in fact the word “Fan” comes from. Sometimes it’s not cool to be a fan, but when it comes to sports, people don’t think twice. Who can paint their faces, make a total show of themselves, and get away with it? Only “The Amateur”.
As a baseball fan, day in and day out, I would memorize the sports page and would zealously quote the stats of random players. Of course, I would save some of my lunch money to buy and collect baseball cards. I also methodically clipped scores, game recaps, and any relevant images to make a scrapbook of my favorite team, which began in spring training and continued throughout the season.
I played my favorite sport since I was four years old and I walked, talked and did everything possible to emulate my favorite player. Many times at nightfall, my mother would yell, “Dinner is ready,” but in the midst of my favorite childhood fantasy, I would toss the baseball into the air once more, trying to send it flying over the azalea plants for the game-winning home run. In my mind, I was living a dream that only a few can understand. It’s about baseball, and I’m “The Fan.”
Hearing a game on the radio, watching it on TV, or experiencing it in person were distinctly different, but each complete and satisfying in its own way. You see, “The Fan” savors the special enjoyment of each memory, and I leave you with some of mine.
A long time ago, summer Saturday afternoons were spent watching the Chicago Cubs play on TV with my grandfather. The old Polaroid photos remind me of the father and his trip from Florida to Atlanta, to see the Braves play the Dodgers. Then, while stationed in England, baseball caught my eye, over and over again, as this proud dad rocked his little girl to sleep. In the fall of 1991, while stationed in Saudi Arabia, I never thought twice about staying up until three in the morning to watch the Atlanta Braves make their dramatic worst-to-first run. And now, I can see the twinkle in my son’s eye as he opens a new pack of baseball cards.
All these memories, and many more, are written on the tablature of my heart. Immortals, they move the soul. They deepen my love for the game of baseball and help define this person I have become, “The Fan.”