Curve Balls, Fastballs, Sliders

It was a typical San Francisco-like night: foggy, rainy, bone-chilling cold. The whole evening was a flash flood of childhood memories as we waited out the April showers. There were a lot of nights like this spent at Candlestick Park.

Baseball was my first love. I would spend hours hiding under my bed with my mother's old black and white television watching the game, studying it, intrigued. I wasn't allowed to watch sports on t.v. for some odd reason so I had to be covert about my activities. From April through October you could spy rabbit ears darting from underneath my bed, but I was not to be found.

In the fourth grade I found someone who loved baseball as much as me. On game days his father would drop us off at Candlestick and leave us on our own. We brought our gloves to batting practice and snagged foul balls from the third base line. During the game, we kept score; Rich showed me how to account for every play. Baseball was everything; we lived it, dreamed it.

I wanted to be the first girl professional baseball announcer. I carried a baseball rule book everywhere. I studied rules, plays, players. I collected baseball cards. Everything baseball. As a teen I was fortunate enough to get a mini internship with a television station; I had hoped to pursue an education in communication.

Life is a series of curve balls, fastballs, and sliders. You have to stay ahead in the count and know when to swing. You're not always going to get the pitch you can really hit. If the pitcher is worth a damn, you won't see it all, so you've got to hit against what you're given. Anticipation, preparation, opportunity. Connectivity.

Fast forward a few decades and here I am, back at the ballpark, same April conditions, except I'm 2,500 miles away at Nationals Park. My career is far from the field but my love for the game hasn't changed; just the teams, the players, and the lines on my face.

From April to April, baseball is life. It’s a civilized game played mostly by gentlemen who have a respect for the game, its history and understand they are part of a greater legacy. To a casual observer it's simple, easy, even "slow." But the depth of complexities are known only to the true fans who understand the game within the game within the game. The nuances, unspoken rules, statistics. There is nothing slow, simple, or mindless about baseball.

I still dream of a career with a baseball organization; perhaps in retirement. I'd happily escort you to your seat and wipe it down for you, or bring you hot chocolate on a cold April night. Anything just to be there, close to the game. I'll never know why or how baseball became so important to me, it just is.