April is a good time to be thinking about baseball. Nothing says "Springtime" better than baseball and the Home Opener. That being said, I want to make it perfectly clear that I would never, ever go to a home opener. EVER. I live in Northeast Ohio, for crying out loud, and I have seen it snow in April. Watching baseball in the freezing cold, with possible snow? Count me out.
I do, however, enjoy listening to a ball game on the radio. Why can't the TV announcers be as exciting to listen to as the radio announcers? TV announcers can make a home run sound as boring as watching a turtle crawl across the sidewalk. I love to hear our radio announcer, Tom Hamilton, when someone hits a home run, or even make a great play. He makes you feel like it's the first time he's ever seen anything that great--every time. That's what baseball is all about!
Being from Northeast Ohio, my team is the Cleveland Indians. (Yeah, yeah, I know.) I never really had a choice of being a fan of any team but the Cleveland Indians. My Dad is a die-hard fan. His Dad was a die-hard fan. Hubby is a fan. And, my one son who cares about sports, is a die-hard fan. So, the Indians will always be my team. I can't tell you who is even in the starting line-up, but, "Go Tribe".
We've had our good years and bad years (mostly bad), and have never won the World Series, but we came mighty close. And besides, there's always next year!
There is one name that I will never forget, but he didn't play for the Indians. He played against them. I don't even know what team he played for, but I guess he was pretty good. Carl Yastrzemski.
I will tell you why his name is etched into my brain.
Way back in the day,most families only had one (1) singular, one, television set. And, they did not have remotes. People had to actually walk over to the television and turn the knob to change channels. And, we only had three (3) channels to choose from! (HORRORS!) And, if all that wasn't bad enough, at least in our house, Dad had control of the TV every Sunday afternoon. That meant baseball.
On this particular Sunday afternoon, my sister and I were bored to death, watching the Indians lose yet another game.
We had a brilliant idea. We decided to change it up a bit. Instead of cheering for the loser Indians, we thought it would be more fun, add a little competition, and cheer for the other team.
The first guy to come up to bat was Carl Yastremski. Oh what a fun name. "Go, Ya-STREM-ski! Hit a home run, Ya-STREM-ski! Ya-STREM-ski!Ya-STREM-ski!" We cheered him on. I think he got a hit. YAY! Run Ya-STREM-ski!"
My Dad did not appreciate the fact that we were bored. He did not appreciate the fact that we couldn't care less if he hit the ball or not. It was more disloyalty than he could take. (Not to mention irritating!)
"Girls! Go to your room!"
"What? Why? We were just trying to have a little fun."
"Go to your room. I don't want to hear it."
I think we were in high school. And, do you know what we did? We went to our room! We might have stomped up the stairs, but we went.
In all the years since then, I have never cheered against my team.
"Go Tribe! I hope this year is "next" year!
(This post has been pre-scheduled. I'm currently spending time with my granddaughter, spoiling her as much as possible. If I'm slow in responding to your comments, that is why!)
