Every year for the last 20+ plus years, about the time the winter frost turns to chilly mornings, I get a funny feeling in my gut. Its a feeling that tells me it's time to start shedding my winter blubber and begin the rituals of spring training. I can remember playing baseball at such a young age that a typical backyard field looked like a stadium to our rag-tag team. My father was never a baseball fan... so I never became a player until I was old enough to do something about it. I found my outlet for hardball in my early 20's when, by chance, the Fort Worth Amateur Baseball League placed an ad in the local paper looking for teams. The rest is history.
The name of the team has changed over the years but some things have remained the same. There are still a handful players that have stuck with the team through thick and thin. Playing when we were losing every single game and reaping the benefits of championship seasons that would eventually come. Being part of a baseball team is so different from other team sports. The camaraderie that you build playing through a 20-30 game season can form friendships that last forever. So many players, so many games and I remember almost all of them. Even opposing players that I couldn't stand eventually became respected friends with whom I would gladly have a beer. Its a bond that can only be built over time... or seasons, to be exact. I've played so long that I measure time in seasons, not years.
Today, I'm 43 years and 2 months old. After one dislocated elbow and another knee surgery, my wife and kids still ask when I'll hang up the spikes. I tried giving it up last year by skipping a season but my body still tells me I have a few more at-bats left in me. Somehow, I have this deep-seeded fear that I'll whither away and die if I ever stop playing for good. Hell, I've known players that have dropped dead on the diamond playing a game they love... I can only hope the same will happen to me. Much rather die on a field in my uniform than in a nursing home eating through a straw.
I'm in the midst of a 1-3 losing season and I'm still upbeat about our chances of making the playoffs this year. Its an excitement that has not faded over the years. I still look forward to wearing the uniform, walking onto the field, warming up with the guys and playing a game that has not changed since I was a child. My legs are a lot slower, the arm nowhere near as strong and the pants a little tighter. The leather glove and pine tar still smell the same... only this time, I'm a helluva better hitter with a .375 average... not bad for an old fart.
We're the Burleson Bulls. Check us out sometime www.eteamz.com/nababulls
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