I’d sometimes sit at home on my bed during a humid muggy Sunday afternoon flipping through channels. I’d land on a baseball game. Little figures would run across the screen throwing a ball around, running from one base to another, a ball went high in the air, the crowed screamed, what did this mean? What’s the significance of this? I’d grow tired of watching and turn off the TV.
Multiply this experience several times and that’s my knowledge of baseball in a nutshell. I have nothing against baseball, don’t take me wrong, I'm not against sports. I grew up watching soccer with my family and attending bull riding shows with my grandfather. Neither of these activities captivated my attention either.
Seeing hundreds of people, most wearing caps and shirts with the Yankees logo, watching wooden bats handed out to children, entering the new stadium in the shadow of the old stadium crumbling across the street made me realize to what extent baseball had influenced American culture.
All of these people were here to watch a baseball game on a bland Sunday afternoon, and I was there with them. Watching the field from our seats about four hundred feet in the air, I thought of the opening scene from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I laughed. I first thought being a baseball fan was absurd but others might think being a Harry Potter fan is just as absurd.
It was freezing, there was a ringing in my ears from all the noise after the Yankees won, and I was glad I woke up early that morning to attend a Yankee's baseball game.