It’s a special time of year. One that makes me shake. One that brings hope, which leads to many sleepless nights. One that makes my stomach queasy in anticipation. One that bring joy to me and millions of people around the world.
If you experience some of these symptoms, you may be a baseball addict. Yes, the Detroit Tigers came back into town Monday against the Toronto Blue Jays.
The night before, there was no sleep. The day of, I tied my shoes with shaking hands. Yes, I am a baseball addict, too.
Like Mitch Albom of the Detroit Free Press wrote in his column this week: ‘And here you are again, like a Weight Watcher salivating at chocolate, like an ex-smoker unwrapping a brand new pack.?
Baseball is here again and with that brings back many new traditions and emotions. For example: The Seventh-Inning Stretch. Mario and Rod. Zoom-aya.
For those of you who know all about baseball addiction, you know that there are many emotions that accompany the ‘disease.?
I’m not going to lie, I cried when entering the ballpark Monday. I shed a tear when they played a recap of last season on the scoreboard. I cheered until I went hoarse for our boys of summer. I felt joy when I saw those Olde English D’s take the field.
However, baseball addiction doesn’t stop with your home team. It’s a league-wide, year-round addiction.
It keeps a person up at night listening to John Kruk on Baseball Tonight. It causes a person to watch the scoreboards across the league like it’s their job. It causes a person to travel to places (such as Florida) just to get a glimpse, or a ‘fix.?
It causes a person to root for anyone besides the Yankees or White Sox. It causes a person to get to the park an hour before the gates open.
But for all of you who know what I’m talking about, that’s all worth it.
It’s worth all of the money, time and stress of five long months without baseball to walk into the park and see it in its glory for the first time of the season.
It’s worth it to smell the freshly-cut grass and see Bondo warm up for the game. It’s worth it to beat people up for home-run balls hit during batting practice. It’s worth it to hug Paws.
And for those of you who are wondering how long I’ve been addicted to baseball, I just have one word: birth.
I blame my mother. She gave birth to me while she was watching the Tigers during the 1984 season. She frequently tells people the story of when I was 4-years-old sitting in the Tigers Stadium bleachers looking through binoculars naming Sparky, Gibby, Tram and Whitt while all the muscle-bound 30-something guys around me couldn’t name the starting shortstop.
If you can identify with what I’m saying, you know baseball addiction didn’t start with the 2006 season, like many wannabes claim. It started with your first breaths.
I know there are at least a few people reading this who can sympathize and all I can say is, I feel you.
Don’t be ashamed to shed that tear when you walk into the CoPa. Answer with pride the question we’ve all grown to live and love: ‘Who’s your Tiger.? Embrace this time of year. I know it feels like home to you ? it does to me to. Come out to the ballpark and cheer on your boys of summer to another winning season. Go Tigs!