By: Michael J. Bourrell
Most of my childhood revolved around baseball. I remember my babysitter loved watching Chicago Cubs baseball in the early 70’s. I grew up in a city an hour south of Chicago. By the time I was eight years old, Rick Monday, Jose Cardinal, Billy Williams, Don Kissinger, Glenn Beckert, Ray Burris, and Ron Santo were very familiar names to me. I was either playing baseball with the neighborhood kids and dreaming of becoming a major league baseball player until the reality told me otherwise.
Across the street from me lived a neighbor who sold me a shoe box of baseball cards from what I can remember for $5. I was hooked from that moment on. So, I focused my attention on collecting baseball cards amassing a collection to over 20,000 by the time I quit collecting in high school.
The Oakland A’s won three World Series in the early 70’s and Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine’s two consecutive World in the mid 70’s. They were “the” teams that captured my attention. With the Reds ballclub, it was between Pete Rose or Johnny Bench for my favorite player. I gravitated to Charlie Hustle but neither player captured my favorite player status quite like Roberto Clemente. I can still picture of highlights of his helmet flying off as he was running the bases or him throwing out a runner from right field. These were the baseball personalities that I just had to get my hands on their baseball cards.
I remember that I among the cards that I had included Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, and Hank Aaron but I didn’t have a Clemente card. I just had to have one. I traded a dozen cards for a 1971 Topps Roberto Clemente card, and it was my holy grail. My collection went from playing with the cards to finding and trading my duplicates to completing sets of them. I invested or spent extra money to purchase Topps, Fleer, and Donruss sets.
As I got into high school and later years, my focus shifted more towards attending baseball games. I remember going to a Chicago White Sox game sitting in the upper deck of the old Comiskey Park along the first baseline. My friend and I yelled at Lamar Johnson trying to get his attention. We were so excited he acknowledged us we didn’t see him throw a baseball our way. My friend’s mom ducked just in time for the person sitting next to her catch it.
Fast forward to 1994 or 1995. I had become a fan of the Baltimore Orioles since 1979. Cal Ripken had become one of my favorite players starting in the 80’s. I would often go to White Sox/Orioles game dressed in my Orioles Jersey and cap. One game I was sitting in centerfield with other Orioles fans. We were hollering at Brady Anderson. He threw a baseball towards me and an older guy stuck his glove in front of mine and promptly dropped the ball on between the field and the stands I was anger for a moment but was short-lived when the grounds crew gave the ball to the guy who dropped it and he gave it to his grandson.
Last specific memory was when the manager of the Speedway gas station had given me free tickets for the White Sox/Orioles game including free parking. I guess it was too cold for him and his son. I was more than happy to take them off his hands because I had a plan to get Cal Ripken Jr.’s autograph before the game. I stopped at Walgreens to pick up a pack of sharpie markers and headed to the game 2-3 hours before the start time. I was able to get his autograph and I felt like a kid given free rein in a candy store.
I could go on and on with more memories but this would.be much longer post. Baseball has become a metaphor for life. Spring Training resembles the promise of a new and better year with all its hopes and promise. Some seasons can be historic and unforgettable but as in life bad years happen more then you would like to admit. Think about Cubs fan for a second. One hundred years is a lifetime between championships. The few great years can make up for the not so great years. Then there’s the Hot Stove season and the buildup of curiosity to see what improvements were made in the off-season and if they will pay off.
Baseball is life and that is what baseball means to me. These are the many thoughts running through my head as I end this fun exercise.