As most people know the World Series is going to game seven tomorrow night. I’m actually writing while watching the game, and it got me thinking about how much I miss the game. I played from the time I could walk until this past May when my collegiate career ended. My first word actually was ball. I still carry a baseball in my backpack to class. I can’t help it; it’s been one of the things I love most for as long as I can remember. Now that I’ve stopped however, I have more of a love/hate relationship with the game. I can’t stop thinking about how much fun I’ve had over the years, but it’s hard to watch baseball on TV sometimes, much less relive my own experiences playing. Giving up something you love so much is incredibly difficult.
A common saying I heard circulating the sport is that “sooner or later everyone plays his last game.” Like most sayings, this one has an entirely different feel from the other side. My senior season began with a return to Nashville to play Vanderbilt in our opening game of the season and ended with my last Ivy League start, a game that I actually pitched on a broken toe. Both are wonderful memories.
As difficult as leaving baseball is though, it comes with several true blessings. One of which is that I am now playing slow-pitch softball with my dad. We actually played last night and run-ruled a team 15-1 in four innings. Pretty fun for the first time I’ve ever had the privilege of playing on a team with my dad.
I guess it’s just one more transition I’m making in my life. Changing cities, changing schools, getting a job, moving out, why not start playing sports with my dad again? The loss may sting for months or even years, but for the rest of my life, I’ll be able to look back on playing softball with my dad and know it was one of the best experiences I've ever had. I have my memories from baseball. Now it’s time to make some new ones.
Here’s to sports, family, and lifelong memories.
