Even before I was born, it seemed to be determined that baseball would be a part of my life. As the story goes, my father was not ready to go to the hospital while my mother was in labor with me until the Boston Red Sox game was over. They were getting beat pretty badly (9-2) by the Baltimore Orioles, but perhaps there was something else interesting to see in that game, or maybe my mother was not quite ready to go to the hospital either – I didn’t get my first breath air until 3:56 that morning. To make a long story short, my father is a huge baseball fan, as was his father and grandfather before him. I am sure that when I was born, he was already thinking of how he could pass the love of this sport to his first child.
I remember watching baseball with my dad when I was very young. He would try to explain to me what was going on, but I am sure I did not understand much as I watched players run, throw, and hit. Later he would teach me how to sing “Take me out to the Ball Game,” which might have added a little more context to what I saw. The first big moment would not come however until 1980 when I was five years old when my family lived in Oxnard, California. My life as a baseball fan changed forever on that summer day when I stepped foot for the first time into a Major League stadium -- Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles California.
I can still remember going through the turnstiles on our way inside. Santa Claus had brought me a baseball cap the previous winter, but not a Dodgers’ cap. My first piece of respectable headgear was representative of the California Angels, and I can remember the man who ripped the tickets telling me, “Kid, you are in the wrong place. You need to go up the road a little.” I didn’t get the joke, and I remember not liking the man since he was trying to tell me that I did not belong at the stadium on that sunny California day that would be the one when I went to my first baseball game.
I cannot say I remember many of the details of that particular game aside from the food I ate: hotdogs, chocolate malt, peanuts, pretzels, and probably more. The scorecard for this game exists somewhere, and on it my dad kept track of the items I ate as well as the number of beers he drank. Before leaving the park, I remember stopping to get a Dodgers t-shirt for me with my name ironed onto the back of it. It was one of my prized possessions until I moved to Georgia and became a Braves fan.
I went to my first Braves game probably sometime in 1982.
I remember they were playing the Cubs, and the game was at the old Atlanta – Fulton County Stadium that was the home of the Braves before Atlanta’s Centennial Olympic Stadium was constructed and later transformed into Turner Field. Once again, I do not remember the particulars of this game, but by this point, I knew that I was familiar with the rules and was able to follow the game since I was playing t-ball at the time. I was six or seven years old, and already at my second baseball stadium. Little did I know the list would continue to grow.
In the two or three years that followed, I would visit Fenway Park in Boston,
the second-oldest existing Major League Baseball park twice, once to see the Red Sox play the A’s, and another time to see them play the Tigers. By the time I was ten, I had also visited Yankee stadium to see the Yankees play the Blue Jays. As I got older, I would see the San Francisco Giants’ former home, Candlestick Park, where I got to see the Braves as the visiting team; and the Philadelphia Phillies’ old park, Veterans Stadium. I added yet another stadium to my list when the Braves moved into their new home. I would see the Chicago Cubs play in Wrigley Field, where I was lucky enough to 
catch a ball, and just a couple of summers ago. I missed seeing Mark McGuire’s longest homerun of his career when I was standing in the concession line at the old Busch Stadium in Saint Louis, and I saw the Washington Nationals play in RFK Stadium where I saw Roger Clemens pitch a game where he struck out fourteen Nationals.
I remember watching baseball with my dad when I was very young. He would try to explain to me what was going on, but I am sure I did not understand much as I watched players run, throw, and hit. Later he would teach me how to sing “Take me out to the Ball Game,” which might have added a little more context to what I saw. The first big moment would not come however until 1980 when I was five years old when my family lived in Oxnard, California. My life as a baseball fan changed forever on that summer day when I stepped foot for the first time into a Major League stadium -- Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles California.
I can still remember going through the turnstiles on our way inside. Santa Claus had brought me a baseball cap the previous winter, but not a Dodgers’ cap. My first piece of respectable headgear was representative of the California Angels, and I can remember the man who ripped the tickets telling me, “Kid, you are in the wrong place. You need to go up the road a little.” I didn’t get the joke, and I remember not liking the man since he was trying to tell me that I did not belong at the stadium on that sunny California day that would be the one when I went to my first baseball game.
I cannot say I remember many of the details of that particular game aside from the food I ate: hotdogs, chocolate malt, peanuts, pretzels, and probably more. The scorecard for this game exists somewhere, and on it my dad kept track of the items I ate as well as the number of beers he drank. Before leaving the park, I remember stopping to get a Dodgers t-shirt for me with my name ironed onto the back of it. It was one of my prized possessions until I moved to Georgia and became a Braves fan.I went to my first Braves game probably sometime in 1982.
I remember they were playing the Cubs, and the game was at the old Atlanta – Fulton County Stadium that was the home of the Braves before Atlanta’s Centennial Olympic Stadium was constructed and later transformed into Turner Field. Once again, I do not remember the particulars of this game, but by this point, I knew that I was familiar with the rules and was able to follow the game since I was playing t-ball at the time. I was six or seven years old, and already at my second baseball stadium. Little did I know the list would continue to grow.In the two or three years that followed, I would visit Fenway Park in Boston,
the second-oldest existing Major League Baseball park twice, once to see the Red Sox play the A’s, and another time to see them play the Tigers. By the time I was ten, I had also visited Yankee stadium to see the Yankees play the Blue Jays. As I got older, I would see the San Francisco Giants’ former home, Candlestick Park, where I got to see the Braves as the visiting team; and the Philadelphia Phillies’ old park, Veterans Stadium. I added yet another stadium to my list when the Braves moved into their new home. I would see the Chicago Cubs play in Wrigley Field, where I was lucky enough to 
catch a ball, and just a couple of summers ago. I missed seeing Mark McGuire’s longest homerun of his career when I was standing in the concession line at the old Busch Stadium in Saint Louis, and I saw the Washington Nationals play in RFK Stadium where I saw Roger Clemens pitch a game where he struck out fourteen Nationals.I still have more places I would like to add to my list of baseball stadiums, AT&T park in San Francisco, the new stadium in Pittsburg, and PETCO Park in San Diego to name a couple. I don’t think I would really crave going to new ballparks if my family would have never moved from California to Georgia and I did not get to see the first two so early. My list of stadiums is just a collection I keep, and I am not really sure what it says about me other than I like to travel and I like watching baseball games.
