Baseball Fever
“Steve, they called your name! Go down to the field!”
“What?” I said to Donna as I looked for my seat.
“When we came in I signed you up for a contest. I guess they picked your name!”
Incredulous, I made my way to the dugout. Seven other fans were there along with the ballplayers. “What’s going on, I asked?” trying not to appear completely ignorant.
“In between innings you will try to throw a strike. One of you will win two tickets to the World Series,” said the contest spokesman.
“Are they serious?” I thought. “The real World Series? Free tickets just for throwing a strike? They must be kidding!”
Several thousand people in the stands. No warm-up. Jumping stomach. First in line. “Relax and throw,” I thought. I did, and … completely missed the target! The crowd let out a collective moan.
Fortunately, no one else was any better. The second time around, the ball barely squeaked in for a strike. I waited. It was the only strike any of us threw.
They took me to the head office and, sure enough, I was to leave three days later for a real World Series game.
The experience was surreal. Tuesday morning my son and I boarded a plane for Cleveland on the promise that if we took a train to a certain hotel, our name would be on a pair of World Series tickets.
My son was ten years old, the perfect memory-making age. He had no worries. He was there with his Dad having the experience of a lifetime. For me, it was a bit different. I was concerned with making connections, getting directions, staying on time.
I remember thinking, “What if our name’s not on the list for tickets? How can I know for sure?”
In truth, I couldn’t. I simply had to take the club representative at his word and act in faith.
When it comes to issues of faith, by the way, it seems there’s no getting around, well … faith. Given our best assessment of the evidence, we take a risk and hope it turns out all right.
That day, it turned out great: our tickets were waiting for us in Cleveland. We took our place amid thousands of fans in what had to be the coolest World Series game ever. It even snowed! It was a raucous evening as the hometown fans celebrated victory.
Every year during baseball season I get wistful, remembering the time Major League Baseball (and my wife) gave my son and me the memory of a lifetime. I’d done nothing to deserve it. I merely showed up, threw a baseball, flew to Cleveland at someone else's expense, and trusted that my name would be written on the list.
Needless to say, I’m glad I took them at their word....
“What?” I said to Donna as I looked for my seat.
“When we came in I signed you up for a contest. I guess they picked your name!”
Incredulous, I made my way to the dugout. Seven other fans were there along with the ballplayers. “What’s going on, I asked?” trying not to appear completely ignorant.
“In between innings you will try to throw a strike. One of you will win two tickets to the World Series,” said the contest spokesman.
“Are they serious?” I thought. “The real World Series? Free tickets just for throwing a strike? They must be kidding!”
Several thousand people in the stands. No warm-up. Jumping stomach. First in line. “Relax and throw,” I thought. I did, and … completely missed the target! The crowd let out a collective moan.
Fortunately, no one else was any better. The second time around, the ball barely squeaked in for a strike. I waited. It was the only strike any of us threw.
They took me to the head office and, sure enough, I was to leave three days later for a real World Series game.
The experience was surreal. Tuesday morning my son and I boarded a plane for Cleveland on the promise that if we took a train to a certain hotel, our name would be on a pair of World Series tickets.
My son was ten years old, the perfect memory-making age. He had no worries. He was there with his Dad having the experience of a lifetime. For me, it was a bit different. I was concerned with making connections, getting directions, staying on time.
I remember thinking, “What if our name’s not on the list for tickets? How can I know for sure?”
In truth, I couldn’t. I simply had to take the club representative at his word and act in faith.
When it comes to issues of faith, by the way, it seems there’s no getting around, well … faith. Given our best assessment of the evidence, we take a risk and hope it turns out all right.
That day, it turned out great: our tickets were waiting for us in Cleveland. We took our place amid thousands of fans in what had to be the coolest World Series game ever. It even snowed! It was a raucous evening as the hometown fans celebrated victory.
Every year during baseball season I get wistful, remembering the time Major League Baseball (and my wife) gave my son and me the memory of a lifetime. I’d done nothing to deserve it. I merely showed up, threw a baseball, flew to Cleveland at someone else's expense, and trusted that my name would be written on the list.
Needless to say, I’m glad I took them at their word....