Confessions Of A Baseball Fanatic

I am a die hard Mets fan, and maybe more importantly a baseball fanatic.

I’ve always been a Mets fan.  But over the last 11 years my passion has turned due north.  I pray to the Baseball Gods three times a day.  On weeknights, the hours of seven to ten are sacred. When the Mets win it’s like a delicious plate of food which you savor every last bite and is easy to digest.  Heartache and heartburn if the Mets lose.  Every game has the anxiety of a World Series game.  Twenty four hours later I need another fix.  My wife wants me to check in to rehab.

As a baseball fanatic I care about all baseball, not just the Mets baseball.   Did you know that there are 30 major league teams?  There are still teams in Baltimore, Cleveland and Houston.

I am a believer in parity.  We need an equal rights amendment – a salary cap.  Then you could quantitatively measure, rate and compare baseball organizations.  Imagine the Pittsburgh Pirates as “Americas Team”?  In the NFL where two small market teams like the Indianapolis Colts and the New Orleans Saints would be a huge prime time match up, so could the MLB’s Oakland A’s and the K.C. Royals.  New York fans might not appreciate the competition brought on by the salary cap so be careful what you wish for.

The greatest thing about baseball, and what sets it apart and makes it unique from other sports is that there is a game every day.  Not only is there baseball every night but there is “Baseball Tonight” and “MLB Tonight”, thus extending the passion and obsession of baseball deep into the night.

Baseball really strains a marriage, relationships, social life, and career advancement.  You must know the scores.  When away from the home base TV;  whether at a restaurant, party, or business meeting, technology has made it too easy to follow pitch by pitch of every MLB game.

It doesn’t matter who is playing in the World Series.  Just one more game, please.  Game seven is anti-climactic.  Either way there is no baseball tomorrow.

The World Series has ended and the “winter me” comes out of hibernation.  I read, go out to movies, and  watch some football on Sundays.  My heart isn’t in them.  I’m emotionally spent.

My present degree of obsession with baseball cannot be rationally explained.  Baseball, not religion is my opiate.  Why is it fun to watch athletes run around the bases or to hit a spherical object with a cylindrical one.  Why should an seemingly purposeless, meaningless action be so satisfying and addicting.

If your wife can understand, don’t let her go.  She’s a “keeper”.