Home Field Advantage

It started out as like any other Saturday. I woke up and drew back my Star Wars blanket to expose my feet to the cool air of my still dark room. My feet swung over the side of the bed to meet the ice rink which acted as my bedroom floor. Sure the floor was always cold, but it was better than any alarm clock when you needed to wake up. My feet continued their groggy journey to the bathroom where my daily ritual of bathing, brushing, and combing would soon begin. Halfway through brushing my teeth, I realized this may have started as an ordinary Saturday, but it definitely was not going to end that way. This was the day I was going to going to try out for little league baseball. My love affair with baseball started when I was three years old. Growing up, my father worked two jobs, so he wasn't home very much. When he was home, he would sit me on his lap while he watched the New York Yankees play. Growing up poor, we didn't have much. The television and my dads’ recliner were like hallowed ground. This would act as both my church and the training grounds where I would worship the “Gods of the Diamond” and learn the ways of the game. At three years old, I didn't understand much about anything. What I did know for sure was that if there was a sweating beer bottle and a bowl of potato chips next to the recliner, a game was soon to be on. Those signs would prompt me to fetch my Yankees cap and ask my mom for some Cracker Jacks so that I could be scraping caramel, peanuts, and popcorn out of my teeth for the next three hours. At first, watching the actual game was not the major draw for me. What I enjoyed most, besides the father/son time, were the sights and sounds of the game. The organist playing the familiar “Charge” anthem, the crowd chanting in unison for the star player, the close up shots of the pitcher and batter building the tension of the next pitch, my dad yelling at the television due to a bad strike call, all made for the original “Must See