Olivia Leif's March Blog: Baseball

Reflections of a Baseball Baby Sister

            Each year, springtime brings the crunching of cleats on concrete, the plink of metal bats, the smell of a just watered infield, and a group of salty young men ready to once again play America’s pastime, baseball.  These details take me back to some of the most vivid memories of my childhood.

            By the time I was six I had already watched more baseball than most girls watch in their lives. I’ve watched enough baseball in my 16 years that I know just about everything there is to know about the game. At a very young age, I could tell you each position on the field, what every motion or symbol that took place during the game meant, what each signal the coaches gave the boys stood for, who each player was, their positions, their numbers, and I could even tell you who was going to do what each time they stepped up to the plate. I also could explain each slang term, acronym, and anything else that went on before, during, and after the game. I can read a line-up card, run the score board and keep a book with both hands. I practically lived at the baseball fields every spring and every summer, every single year until my brother graduated high school and went on to play college ball.  Sometimes I despised it, but now I would not trade it for the world.

            By the time the first game of the season rolled around I was ecstatic. I was more than ready to go out and sit next to my mom on the bleachers and watch the game from beginning to end. I consumed more sunflower seed salt than is probably healthy, and braided more hair better than any other elementary school girl in my days at the ball fields. (All the other sisters hated baseball and knew I could braid hair so they always asked me to braid their pony tails and piggy tails until they got bored and went under the bleachers to play with their Barbies.) Needless to say I loved going baseball games growing up.  However, as the season went on, my enthusiasm waned with each game. I, like all the other little sisters brought along a Barbie or two, but never really played with them during the games. I don’t know what it was that kept me from diving under the stands to play with dolls, but if I were to guess, I’d say it was simply the love for the game.

            Each year delivered another season of baseball. This baseball was never just a game I watched; it was so much more than that. It was laughing, cheering and crying. It was late nights at the kitchen table eating pizza while re-hashing the games. It was some of the best memories that I will keep with me for life.