Fine, I'll admit it. Baseball matters.
It took a spring and summer of live games at Davenport field last year, as well as a miraculous comeback in October by the Red Sox, but I'm now convinced that baseball does matter.
I'm certainly the most reluctant of baseball converts, largely because of my frustrating childhood exposure to "America's game."
Like most boys' parents in eastern North Carolina, my parents signed me up for tee-ball as a child. The first indication that baseball might not be for me came when I was assigned to the storied tee-ball franchise, the "Doves."
Other kids got to play for the Cardinals or Orioles (all the teams were named after birds), the monikers of major league clubs. I got a bird that represents peace when paired with an olive branch. My girlfriend took great pleasure in pointing out the absurdity of being named the Doves, openly mocking my short baseball career in as supportive a manner as possible (if laughing hysterically can be considered supportive in any way).
I got called up to midget league after a short stint with the Doves and was allocated to team "BB&T" (a local bank), where I am confident I became the first situational defensive replacement in midget league baseball history. I went that entire third-grade season without even a base-hit, making contact only once on a line-drive to the first baseman. Just to give a frame of reference to how pitiful that was, this was still the pitching machine league. Needless to say, I discovered lacrosse soon after that miserable year at the plate.
As you can see, I'm not predisposed to enjoy baseball from my playing days. I really didn't figure out what die-hards were talking about until I started sporadically covering Brian O'Connor's Cavaliers.
Last summer, I explained my change of heart in this space after Brian O'Connor decided not to leave Virginia for a more traditional baseball power. This column ran in a summer edition of The Cavalier Daily that maybe seven bored orientation attendees read.
I've found that the problem with this newfound respect for baseball is that I started caring about more than just the Cavaliers. I was no longer just enjoying a hot dog and a tight ACC contest at Davenport. I watched Sammy Sosa's press conference when he became an Oriole. I was plugged into the Pedro Martinez saga. I found myself taking the time to read stories in full that I would have barely glanced at in The Washington Post Sports section a year ago.
This wasn't exactly a religious conversion, but I do know that last week I was reading SportsIllustrated.com's ratings of National League pitching rotations. I now know that Luke Hudson is the Reds' fifth starter.
I've even tried to select a favorite team. I've never really had a Major League squad to cheer for, and I haven't settled on one club just yet, but the Nationals, Brewers and Astros are all in the running. Don't worry, I'm not going to spend all spring writing Milwaukee columns, but let's just say the Brew Crew has been pushed around long enough by the Red Sox Nation in The Cavalier Daily office.
Opening day for the Major League is a month and a half away, but Virginia takes the field in their home opener tomorrow afternoon. Sure, football didn't end up in a BCS bowl, and basketball has struggled mightily this year, but Cavalier baseball is the antidote. These guys are well worth the Blue-Route bus ride to North Grounds, even if they are just taking on Patriot League foe Bucknell.
Fans can expect stolen bases, hit-n-runs and solid defense tomorrow afternoon. If you stick around long enough though, you can expect something else -- you can expect to be bitten by the baseball bug.
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