In case you haven’t been following America’s favorite pass time the last few years or your whole life, it’s the opening day of baseball. A day that should be a national holiday. Millions of fans around the globe are celebrating. And why shouldn’t they? Baseball is an exciting sport that brings people from all walks of life together and more importantly, it brings them joy.
As a kid, baseball certainly made me happy. Every chance I had I practiced perfecting my swing. My happiest memories with my deadbeat father were going to Candlestick Park to watch our beloved San Diego Padres usually get clobbered by the mighty San Francisco Giants. My siblings and I overloaded on frozen chocolate malts, peanuts, hot dogs and sodas while intensely watching each inning. In early 1981, my beer-fueled father dared me to jump over the stands, onto the field during a game and enter the Padre’s dugout to ask for an autographed baseball. Not wanting to disappoint father dearest and to prove that, in fact, I was the bravest of them all, I followed through. A very stern Ozzie Smith screamed at me, “get back to your seat, little girl.” In great fear and dismay, I ran back to the stand with crocodile tears streaming down my face. The least he could’ve done was given me a ball. But that is okay. Another Padre redeemed his fellow Friar. In 1984, Steve Garvey signed my baseball cap at Jack Murphy Stadium.
