How Going to Baseball Games by Myself Helps Me Deal with Stress and Anxiety

A week ago while scrolling down my Twitter feed on a Sunday morning, I came across something from The Boston Globe that caught my eye.

I was still somewhat waking up and didn’t have my glasses nor contacts in, so the fact that I saw anything was surprising in and of itself. This tweet, however, jumped out to me, not because of what it said, but rather the image it contained.

It was a cartoonish picture of a man sitting by himself at a baseball game.

I didn’t read the article that the tweet linked out to until just now — a week later — and it’s actually quite good and well-written, a first-person introspective about how men are bad at maintaining friendships as they age and take on other life responsibilities.

The picture though, ironically, resonated with me on a personal level because I enjoy occasionally going to baseball games by myself. Some folks probably find that weird, but I find it helps me deal with stress and anxiety.

Along with Fantasy Baseball and a young Phillies team, it’s one of the reasons I’m most excited for baseball to officially return two weeks from today.

I can’t wait for some random 50-degree Sunday in April or early May where I throw on a sweatshirt, hop on the 7 Train to Citi Field, and take in a game for a few hours, similar to what I did a year ago.

The date was Sunday, April 10, 2016 — the season less than a week old. I always try to go to at least one game when the Phillies are in town for a series against the Mets, but this was less of the planned variety.

I hadn’t asked anyone to go with me. It can be difficult to get people who aren’t hardcore baseball fans to go to a game so early in the season because of the weather.

The night prior, the thought popped into my head.

Maybe I’ll just go by myself. I don’t need anyone to go with me. Let’s sleep on it and decide in the morning.

I woke up around 10 a.m, punched a few things into StubHub, and was on my way. This is different, I thought to myself as I rode the train with a bunch of people in David Wright shirseys and lined up outside a stadium gate.

Even with bustling conversation around me, things internally felt quiet. I was still fully recovering from what had been a rough January-early February, and while it’s not great to rely on something seasonal that won’t always be there to aid in the process, having baseball back was huge.

I naturally talk to some of my friends from home more during baseball season. Having something to watch and check when I get home every night is something no other sport offers.

On this afternoon though, there was none of that. I walked in, got some food, did a lap around the stadium, and went to my seat high above behind home plate. I always like sitting behind home plate because you can see the whole field and have a good view of the pitch exploding out of the pitcher’s hand. It might be that my eyes aren’t great, but I find it harder to track the ball when sitting in the outfield.

There was no one to respond to, no problem to solve. You could even call it a three-hour ‘vacation’ where not much else mattered.

The official attendance on the box score says that 37,000 were there that day, but it felt like much less, especially in my section.

I put my feet up on the seats in the row below me, chewed on a sandwich, and waited for the first pitch. As the game started, I occasionally pulled out my phone to read a fantasy update or scroll through Twitter but was able to mostly disconnect, not once checking my email.

Gusts of wind whipped through the stadium that day. It wasn’t really bothering me other than the fact that I had a hood pulled deep over my head that covered my 2008 World Series Champions hat in an attempt to guard my ears and keep warm. The same hoodie shielded my shirt where you would have had no idea I was rooting for the Phillies and not the Mets.

Then, in the sixth inning, Odubel Herrera, who had become my favorite player during a long 2015 season, hit a two-run home run off Matt Harvey to turn a 1–0 game into a 3–0 lead.

For the first time in a few innings, I took my hands out of my pockets and stood up. “YEAH!,” I screamed, pumping my fist and feverishly clapping my hands as Herrera circled the bases while a few Mets fans around me groaned and looked at me like I was crazy.

The Phillies went on to win the game 5–2, and as I rode the subway home, still fully getting the feeling in my hands back, there was a sense of relaxation that I hadn’t felt in a few months.

Damn, I need to do this again at some point.

It’s always a tough balance. I like to think I have really good group of friends, but there’s some instances where I like just being by myself and able to unwind even in public.

I’ll go to other games during the season with my girlfriend (AT&T Park on vacation!!), friends/coworkers, hopefully Citizens Bank Park with my dad, but going alone offers a different set of benefits.

I think I’ll save the article. It was a good read and an important reminder but could maybe do without the picture the next time I pull it up.

It’s okay to go to a baseball game by yourself. It doesn’t mean you’re lonely, don’t have friends, or anything else.

I know it. Ideally you know it, and hopefully the guy in the Boston Globe picture does too.