There is nothing that I love more than baseball.

I am also aware that baseball holds a similar love for me.

I began this piece and you might figure that it would feature my ex-girlfriend, but no, that didn’t work out too well…

I picked up a baseball when I was two-years-old, and the sport stuck with me through my life, right up until the current time. I adore baseball with all my heart. I can’t be myself without it.
Today, my brother and I went to the field and threw live bats at each other. I discovered my deep connection to the game when I was picking up foul balls. I looked up and the smile just filled my face. I can’t help it – anything from the 9th inning in the Sectional Championship to picking up foul balls alone in the puddles outside of the field fills me up. This feeling makes me realize for sure that my attachment and devotion to baseball is returned; baseball loves me back. The feelings are mutual.

Baseball is a game of success, but it is also a game of failure, and is therefore, at times, truly hard to love. Being successful three out of ten times is considered great in the pros, but can’t be found in any other sport. Failure will accompany baseball to a large extent, but over my years of playing, I have learned to love the game. The fact that failure is ever-present in baseball allows me to learn and grow more as a player. I am able to regularly absorb new information through each at-bat and each play in the field.

Baseball has taken over my life and nothing makes me happier than to say that. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without baseball. I have learned my important life lessons from my coaches, from my teammates, and from baseball itself.

Since the last inning of the last game of the season in my junior year, I had been looking forward to my upcoming senior season in the spring. As much as I enjoyed playing football and basketball, and that is quite a bit, I couldn’t wait for those seasons to end so that baseball could officially start up again. I had very high hopes for our team this year. We had a heavy senior roster with experience. We had a lot of team camaraderie, and we genuinely all enjoyed being around each other. When tryouts began, I was going to school only to hear the bell ring at the end of 9th period so practice could start. ASAP. Unlike past winters, there wasn’t much snow, so we were able to get on the field quicker than usual. Each day I felt more anxious to play our first game. Since freshman year, I had been preparing myself for my senior season, my final season to play Brewster Baseball.

But it was not to be. The season was taken away from us, as it was from all athletes. Although this was very unfortunate and hugely disappointing to seniors on all teams, we had no choice. And life is going on, and we must accept that in life: we will face situations over which we have no control.

I wouldn’t change any of my years playing at Brewster, but I will forever wish that I could’ve played one last game, as a senior, with my boys.

I took a video that I sent to my baseball buddies. I recorded the sound of my metal cleats on the concrete dugout because there is nothing else that sounds quite like that. And what about that satisfying snap of a baseball glove, which is most likely followed by a “woo-hoo” from each throwing partner? And who doesn’t love that pop when a player swings, and you square up the ball, and you don’t even feel the ball hit the bat but the maple bat cracks like wood splitting?

There are so many aspects of baseball that make it America’s favorite pastime, but it is only for real lovers that the sounds and aspects feed and fill our souls. It all just feels right.

Baseball, unlike any other sport or activity brings complete joy, total happiness, and love to my life.