A Baseball Glove, Running Shoes and Drumsticks
I recently found my baseball mitt. It was (and still is) in the closet I placed it six years ago when we bought this house.
That mitt was a birthday gift during the time I played in an organized league as a boy. At the time, I was a St. Louis Cardinals fan. I point this out to illustrate my evolution.
For many American men, our old mitt represents our youthful aspirations and optimism. Many of us fantasized about our inevitable career in the Major Leagues.
I haven’t used the mitt since my son played baseball. That was 2007. That year was the monumental run for my new favorite team, the Colorado Rockies. We were both at the stadium for some of the biggest moments of that run until they got swept by the Red Sox in the World Series. I blame the slavishness to TV schedules for that disappointing end.
He ended his time in organized baseball at the same time of his life that I ended mine. He and I did go to many Rockies games over the next few years. The last conversation I had with him was just before his 21st birthday and I promised to buy him a beer from the vendor who inspired the beer man in TV ads from the 2000s. I did not get to fulfill that promise.
My son and I spent a lot of time playing baseball together. But when I found the mitt, I did not even put it on…