I almost fell out of love with baseball

Growing up in the 1980s, my dad’s house had one TV. If you were in the living room on the weekend or on a weekday evening, it was tuned to either M*A*S*H, Wheel of Fortune or the baseball game. You sat down on the autumn-colored, picture-patterned wingback faux velour chesterfield or the LA-Z-BOY® Reclina-Rocker™ … Whichever one Dad hadn’t chosen for the nightly routine… KFC or Burger King, watch TV, drift off, twitch, snort, wake up, fall asleep, snore. Or, you laid down on your belly on the orange and brown shag, and propped your chin on your hands and watched.

For me that meant a steady diet of Montreal Expos and Toronto Blue Jays and NBC Baseball Games of the Week. On weekends, we drove the two hours from Ottawa to Montreal for three or four Expos games per year. Those were the Expos’ glory years with Andre Dawson, Gary Carter, Tim Raines, Jeff Reardon, Tim Wallace and others patrolling the AstroTurf in the Big Owe. The franchise, now barely remembered by most baseball fans, was one of the most successful in baseball at the time, outdrawing the New York Mets from 1977 to 1983 and even the New York Yankees in 1982 and 1983. The stadium was huge and cavernous. The national anthem was bilingual. It was wonderful.

From age 8 to 18, the three things I loved to do most were to play, watch and practice baseball. I’d have the glove on and be out tossing…