No Pressure Miami Marlins, We’re Only Trusting You With Our Children’s MemoriesBy
It was the summer of ’88, while my family was on vacation in New York, that I found myself at my first baseball game. It was at Shea Stadium. I was six. And it got rained out before it even began.
The next morning, Saturday, July 23, 1988, my father and brother decided to head back out to the park to see the Braves take on the hometown Mets. I chose, instead, to go shopping with my mom. No big deal. The Mets wound up losing, anyway, to some rookie pitcher making his first ever start. Some guy nobody had ever heard of. John Smoltz or something. I didn’t miss much.
It would be five long years before I’d ever get to attend my real first baseball game, but on May 1, 1993, at the age of eleven, I sat in the upper deck, behind home plate, five rows back, with my father, my brother and my mother, and watched twelve innings of Rockies-Marlins inaugural season baseball. We ate peanuts and hot dogs and scooped ice cream out of those tiny little baseball helmets. We did all of the things you’re supposed to do at your first game. My dad made sure of it. I couldn’t tell you who won (Baseball-Reference suggests it was the Marlins.), but I’m not even sure it mattered. From that point on, I was a fan.
As a blogger, my job is, basically, to complain about things. So, I might very well eviscerate the Marlins this weekend, after watching them unveil a logo made entirely of Fruit Stripe gum wrappers. And I’ll probably run every joke into the ground when Mike Stanton hits a homer and that ridiculous contraption, that looks like it was stolen from the It’s A Small World ride at Disney World, begins spinning. Because these are the things I do around here.
But, in six or seven years, when I’m a father, when my kid is old enough to appreciate things like cotton candy and foul balls, I’ll take him (Or her!) out to a ballgame. To experience what I experienced. To feel what I felt. To become a fan.
A fan of the Miami Marlins.
Now, please, try not to make these jerseys too ugly. My kid’s going to want to wear it one day.