My how times have changed. I used to count down the days until Opening Day. Four of my favorite words were “pitchers and catchers report” (as in report to spring training).
Don’t believe me?
This is an editorial I wrote for my high school newspaper, Paw Prints, in 1992.
In college, my friends Bryan and Leslie bought me a book, a children’s book, called If I Were an Atlanta Brave. I loved that book. I still have it.
Yes. I loved my Braves (any baseball, actually). A lot. Probably more than was healthy. O.k., definitely more than was healthy. Once a friend was in a lounge on my hall crying because she was feared she had an eating disorder. I walked into that same lounge a few minutes later crying — perhaps even harder than my friend — because the Braves had just lost to the Philadelphia Phillies in the 1993 National League Championship Series. (I was self-aware enough to know how ridiculous I was being, but still…)
After college, I worked for 3 1/2 years at a sports news network, which made sports work, not fun. I still watched the Braves but not as fervently as I used to.
After switching to a non-sports job and “detox”ing for a year or so, I liked nothing more than spending the afternoon or evening listening to a game on the radio. In the five or so years since then, I met my husband. I bought a townhouse. I started dating my husband (six weeks after I bought the townhouse, but that will be part of another post). I got married. I sold my townhouse, and moved to my husband’s house.
My life is good. I’m happy I have such a full life.
I most likely won’t be turning on the radio much this year to tune in to a game. (I don’t even know which radio station they’re on anymore.) And if I DID tune in, I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea whether the announcer was talking about a member of the Braves or of the other team.
And part of me is very sad about that.