Have you ever wondered

I'd have to say my Dad. He's isn't a huge sports fan but baseball was the one thing we'd do together. We'd go to old Busch Stadium late every summer for a Cardinals game.

Dad was a little tight and wouldn't buy tickets until we arrived at the park. Have you ever sat in the upper deck at Busch Stadium in center field in August?

They don't have thermometers that go that high!!!

They had the motor driven tarp that sunk below the field and of course, Fredbird riding the three-wheel ATC!

Thanks for the memories, Its!

Ok - here goes:

My dad was a professional player in the Detroit Tigers system back in the late 40's. After his playing days were over - and he had me - he would take me to the Mets games at Shea Stadium. He knew a few players who were on the Mets - one of them had played and roomed with my dad in the minors.

So - we would go to the games - and sometimes his friends would get me into the clubhouse after the games. Most of the Mets guys were very nice guys. I was about 9 years old. It was like being in heaven. Ed Charles - Tommie Agee and many others. We didnt have much money - but Dad always found a way to get me to about 15 games a year - and every time we went to the game I was so excited - I cant even describe that feeling.

There was one Met in particular who was always really nice to me. I would ask him to autograph baseballs - and he would sign them. Once - he gave me a ball signed by the whole team. I still have it.

He was Kenny Boswell - #12 - My childhood hero.

I bugged that guy so bad - I would write to him every week. If he had a good week - I would congratulate him. And if he had a bad week - I would say - dont worry Kenny - you are the best - next week will be better. I did that for years.

He would write back. I would take the letters and show my friends.

Being a pestering young kid - I would also ask him for stuff. I must have drove that poor guy crazy. Usually I asked him to sign baseballs or his picture - so I could go back home and give them to my friends. He always tried to oblige me - and usually did.

All my friends were Yankee fans - but none of them knew a MLB player. I used to hand the pictures out and the baseballs out to my friends. I would get them signed - with their names on them - and say "Kenny signed this one for you - dont you wish the Yankees had Kenny Boswell" LOL

When I came home - some of my friends would get ****ed at me - but they always took the stuff I gave them.

One time - when I ran out of baseballs to bring to the game - I brought Spaldeens - little pink balls used for stickball games - He signed them all. Kenny must have thought I was deranged. LOL

I was the King I tell you. I bragged that Kenny Boswell was my friend. Noone could take that away from me. If someone said Kenny sucked - I was ready to fight. And sometimes I did. LOL

At that point - I was also starting to play sports. I wore #12. Kenny's number. I wore #12 throughout middle and high school - in football and baseball. It was #12 period.

After college - I played football,baseball and fast pitch softball until I was age 39. I wore #12.

One year - the manager of our softball team ordered my jersey in triple-large size - it was so big I could have made 3 jerseys out if it. I went to the tailor - and spent $40 to have the $10 jersey altered. My wife seriously asked me if I was crazy. I told her - its #12 - or the hell with it - I wont play anymore. LOL - And I meant it.

Even my younger son requests #12 whereever he plays - just because he knows the number has a special meaning to me. I cant tell you the feeling I get when I see him run onto the field with that number on his back. It is like a chain that hasnt been broken.

Kenny Boswell - my childhood hero - I think - is the person that instilled the love of the game in me as much as my Dad did.

I hope that there are guys like Kenny still in the game today - because I know what a positive impact he had on me.

And that is my story.

That's a GREAT story its!

Funny, I was thinking of a similar topic for a thread, but geared towards where our sons got their love for the game.

In my case, I don't really know. My dad only took me to one game. I went with my best friend and his dad a couple of times. Maybe it was Mantle and Maris in 1961. Maybe it was baseball cards for only a nickel a pack or even the free ones on the Post cereal boxes. I would most likely attribute it to simply getting to play with friends on youth baseball teams and at the dead end of the street.

My son on the other hand, was born with it. I think his case was more than just environmental. Dare I say, he was created for this game?

Now I understand your Mets obsession. I'd be gonzo for them too. Great story, its.

My dad...
...that's it...that's the list. It is a bond we share today.

My Son,

Although always a fan, the question was "love of baseball".

Never having been a baseball player, although an athlete, my knowledge was that of a cursory fan.

Throughout my sons development, I would ask him about the ideosyncracies of the game. The finite points. We would get into discussions and I was able to view the field through his eyes and perceptions. My ignorance gave me the opportunity to watch him perform without worry about what he was doing right or wrong. It was pure.

I was involved in a unique experience, where as early as 14 years old, my son learned how to express himself to me so that I could learn from him.

It was and still is magic, and I love baseball because of it.

Living next to a complex of 12 baseball fields helped. The environment there was what hooked me to the game. Every Saturday and Sunday food vendors would setup shop at the place and sell ethnic food. Others would show up with instruments and play live music. This would start around 10am and go on till sunset. Us kids froliced around on the emptier spots and chased foul balls and watched the older guys play. Thats when I got hooked.

Saved up my money from packing bags in the supermarket and skated down flatbush ave all the way to downtown brooklyn to sports authority. (Pestering my local pharmacy to start selling baseball gloves didn't work. ) There I plunked down 35 dollars for a glove and two baseballs. I had that glove for seven years. Gave it to a polish kid who was in america visiting his grandmother for the summer. Kid didn't know any better and assumed he had to buy a glove for his right hand. Wanted to pay me 10 bucks for it. I told him to take it, considering it had a huge hole in the palm courtesy of a girl on my team with a cannon for an arm throwing a dudley into it.

When I was in the mid-20's, I went to a Texas Rangers game with some friends and was bored out of my mind. It seemed like an eternity between plays and I got tired of players spitting and scratching themselves.

Fast forward a few years.... when my 1st grade son registered in little league and began machine pitch. As he began to shine, my interest picked up. I still vividly remember my feelings of pride when he made double plays at the age of 8 and when he was picked 3rd in the little league draft out of about 250 kids at age 10.

Fast forward a few more years... when my son entered his freshman year of high school and the coach asked what select team he'd be playing on that summer. Select ball had never even occurred to us, but we got him set up with a team and the ball starting rolling forward.

Now he's a senior in high school and I can say unequivocably that I LOVE the game of baseball. My non-baseball friends think I am totally obsessed! I so enjoy seeing good plays and talent on the field. I watch local minor league games and root the players on as if I'm their own mother.

I am still learning SO MUCH. I have a long way to go with regard to learning all the nuances of pitching especially. But I give thanks to God that I get to continue learning as I watch my son play college ball!

Who instilled my love of baseball? My son gets ALL the credit.

i can't ever remember not liking the game.all us kids in my neighborhood would play ball from sun up to sun down. 3 kids ,10 kids,it didn't matter. i grew up with out a dad ,so looking back i guess i learned about a lot of things on the field. played some sort of ball until i was 40. i really miss the playing, coaching isn't the same but it works.watching my kids play is maybe where i learned to love the game. i know it's where their mother learned to love it.

it's
great story how cool is that for a kid.

Wonderful stories in this thread

Gamer, did your dad play for the Flint Arrows in Atwood Stadium with Ray Boone.

I can write tons of paragraphs, but simply put, a combination of Dad, a gift, and great competition from my childhood environment.

Sports in general were the very fiber of my youth with baseball always in 1st place. On any given day, it would start with the morning pickup game, the afternoon might entail some football in the outfield, and some hoops on the court behind the RCF fence, then more baseball.

This was all at a Cleveland park 2 streets away from the house I grew up in. Dad would come home from his day job, play catch or pitch to me in the tight driveway using the garage door as a backstop.

I busted enough windows, and he knew it would happen, but out of his love and passion for the game and his desire to see me succeed, he would just get a window cut, and the next day set it with putty knife in hand........back then you could do that. Then he would go off to work a 2nd job at night, but always found a way in between to catch my 5'oclock little league games. As tight as money was, he always got me the best stuff.

With the utmost HUMBLENESS, I was one of those kids who struck everybody out and also hit the most HR's as a kid. When I look back now, I realize that somewhere along the way I lost that "something" to keep the process going, be it mental or emotional, but I got back into it and played hardball until age 44, and gave it up a few years ago to travel with my son and his baseball quest.

My Dad gained some pro interest back in the 40's, but circumstances(lost his dad when he was 9) and his brother overseas in the Service pretty much forced him to stay home. I lost him almost 20 years ago, but I believe his passion for baseball is in my son, and in some way he is helping me guide him.

There is no other game like baseball. You can dominate, and a few minutes later, get dominated. You see the same mistakes at the Pro level as you do at the little league level, just not as many times. The guy who bats 9th does for a reason, in the pros as in little league.

Whats not to like?

cool stories

I think I picked it up myself just by watching over the years.My dad has never really been close to me,and my mom isnt a sports buff

Where I got my love of baseball from? That's a hard question for me to answer because baseball has pretty well been my life. My parents tell me that was my first love. They say I came out ready to play ball. By three, I was playing t-ball whenever my sister's team or the other team needed someone. I had a couple friends down the street who were all anywhere between 4 and 9 years older than me that I played ball with up until 3rd or 4th grade. We'd play in the backyard one day playing baseball all day with a tennis ball and the next we were playing hockey in a driveway. Some days we'd play both of them and just go back and forth all day long.

I played on "select" teams for a couple years. Started out in just a couple tournaments and then played in a league in St. Louis for a couple years. Ended up back home playing in a travel league with the surrounding towns. I was the player to be had then. Catching was always my thing. I made a mesh ballcap my catcher's mask when I was little. I am naturally left-handed but I was taught to throw with my right hand because I wanted to catch. When I got into organized baseball, I was always pitching or playing short. I never played the outfield and seldom played first. I didn't get to catch much either because my coach had me on the mound most of the time. I normally pitched the max amount that I was allowed by the league. Couldn't throw a change up and didn't know how to throw the curve. Straight fastball was all I needed. I got into junior high where I was the bullpen catcher as a 7th grader on an "8th grade" team. At that time, we only had one junior high team. There were 3 of us 7th graders that made the team. 8th grade year I started out catching, but ended up playing every position but centerfield and pitcher.

Well that's all I'll put for now about actual playing. High school was a shock to me because I wasn't the star like coaches had made me out to be before.

My dad coached baseball and is planning to go back to coaching. My mom works as an usher for the St. Louis Cardinals. My God Mother works as an usher for the St. Louis Cardinals. I have one God Father who coached here for 20+ years before going elsewhere. He has retired and returned to help out the past two years. Another God Father was an assistant coach before moving away. The head coach has been here for 17 years. He came back to his high school to coach. Coach Vogel is one of my best friends. I hated him some the last couple years, but I've been running around with him my entire life. Helping with camps, being in the dugout, even doing some coaching.

Leaving the field last year for the last time as a Bulldog player was hard. No baseball for me in college, but I'll still be around.

As you can see, baseball is all around me. Sure, there's other things that me and my family have done. But it all comes back to baseball.

Feels a little bit like confession, so I suggest all the posters go ahead and let it all hang out.

In this community, our foundations are pretty key to who we have become as parents

I've got to say it was my big brother ... he'd always play catch with me and let me hang out with his "big" friends. I was batboy on his Legion teams and he and his friends really took me in... I felt like part of the team I guess and that can make a guy feel pretty good.

I think that there may be some truth to the thought that you are born to love the game...

I loved the street ball game that came together after school. And when there weren't enough kids for a game, we played hot box. Whenever the words, "What do you wanna do?" were spoken, I wanted to play ball.

Being a girl growing up in the 60's, structured baseball...or even softball for that matter...wasn't an option for me. But, my aunt also loved the game and she taught me how to catch, throw and hit. She once said if she'd only been a boy, she'd have been a ball player.

I didn't play in a real game with umpires (softball game, that is) until I was 14. My parents wouldn't buy me a glove when I signed up to play since they figured I would lose interest so I had to use one of my brother's gloves. Yet I loved the game and played into adulthood. In fact, I played my last game when I was four months pregnant. (In fact I felt him move the first time while at a game
It's no wonder my son loves the game, he was playing on a field before he was born!

Short answer...

Boyhood friends where we played on the local fields in San Francisco for hours.

But our favorite game was called "fast pitch".

Two or more players. Played with a tennis ball and a wooden bat usually given to us by one of the pro ball players after they had cracked it. We would put tacks into the handle to prevent it from separating.

Batter stood in front of a painted square on a wall and the pitcher threw the ball to try to strike out the batter and get his ups after three outs.

Ball hit on the ground that didn't go past the pitcher on a fly was an automatic out. Ball hit against the fence extra bases if it hit at different heights on the fence the runner automatically advanced a base up to a triple. Ball hit over the fence HR.

We played that game from sun up until sun down. Its the reason so many old timers don't understand what all the fuss is about overthrowing. Later when we played with a hardball the game didn't change just the locations. Throwing 300 pitches was nothing.
The problem with not throwing enough is that the arm never gets strong enough.

But as an outcome of that game the boys learned how to really pitch under control with command and using a variety of grips.

My Dad hated baseball. Never saw a game his entire life. May he RIP.

When I was younger my dad would take me to ballgames. We lived so far out in the country it was like taking a road trip. I enjoyed those games with him. I didn't know alot about the game, but I knew who I liked. I lost my dad at 15 in a car accident, but I contribute most of my loves in life to him except one:

When my son started playing baseball it became different for me. I was no longer just happy watching the games, I had to know everything about it. From the fundamentals of fielding, hitting and pitching to the intracasies of the game. I read everything I could get my hands on, taught myself how to keep a score book and attended every hitting lesson I could. I could not get enough of this wonderful game. He has been playing select for 6 years now. I still get butterflies before every game. I have fallen in love with watching him play a game that he loves. I don't know how far he'll go, but I know I will love watching him every step of the way.

I attribute my love for the game to my son.

Great story, its; I enjoyed that.

Like several posters in the thread so far, baseball started for me in St. Louis. But not, oddly enough, with the Cards. My Mom's roommmate when I was born was Jim Delsing's wife, whom you all doubtlessly remember was a starting OFer for the Browns, famous for pinchrunning for Eddie Gaedel and fathering a pro golfer. I was taken to my first games (doubleheader...remember those?) when I was 11 days old. Actually, taking a new baby to a doubleheader to see the Browns in the middle of a St Louis summer could be construed as child abuse....

Veeck was running one of his famous promos "any child in attendance under the age of one" was to get a future contract with the Brownies. Alas, any baby meant any baby boy. I still have the polite 'girls can't play so she can't have a contract' Veeck sent to my Mom when she complained.

I can remember games at Sportsman's park from about the age of four. My Dad would fill in the names on a scorecard for me and, as I knew numbers, he taught me to keep a card. Been keeping them ever since. Two men taught me to love the game from that time --- my Dad.....and Wally Moon. Not only did he have a wonderful name, but he played the outfield with such wonderful abandon I could only watch him on the field, crashing into walls and diving for balls, so much more action than any of the other fielders. I was heartbroken when the Cards traded him to the Dodgers when I was seven...

I still miss Sportsman's Park withits wooden seats and the entire stadium banging them along to The Mexican Hat Dance, the proximity of the seats to the field, and the megaphone popcorn containers. It's wierd now when people refer to The New Stadium....they just tore down "the new stadium"!

My Dad had a tryout with the Cards (I've still got the bumf they passed out to the recruits "So You Want To Play For The St Louis Cardinals". Dad had a good eval....except for the part where they said he ran too long in the same place! But then came WWII and it wasn't an issue. He enlisted and became an aircraft mechanic in Hondo, TX. Fixed planes in the morning and played baseball every afternoon.

When Dad coached my softball team, I took his position, 2B. Oddly enough, that's the one position my son has never played well!

Even when I lived in England, I'd listen to ball games on the armed forces radio out of Germany...games that started at 1am with a signal that would drift in and out of a Spanish opera broadcast. I was thrilled when Sky TV started broadcasting some games ---- first one after we got the dish was a Cardinal-Cubbie game. Perfect!

When my son arrived, my American friends all sent baseball-themed baby presents. Oddly enough, his first MLB-licensed gift was a tiny hideously yellow Padres jacket! That picture is now framed and on my dresser....

My love of baseball started in the Bronx with the Yankees. My dad worked near Yankee Stadium. He would take my two brothers, their friends and me. He always seemed to have a bunch of tickets. My brothers would always try to talk my dad into giving my ticket to one of their friends. They would always say I was too little and a girl. Girls did not play baseball in the 60's. Not once did my dad ever give my ticket away. Great memories!

Its- I have two sons, one a Yankees fan and one a very vocal Mets Fan. Not too many Mets fans in the Bronx.

quote:

Not once did my dad ever give my ticket away.

Your Dad was a good man

The stories in this thread are wonderful and explains why I spend so much time reading on this site.

My love of baseball got off to a rocky start. I was given a glove on my birthday as a seven year old and up to that point, did not even know what baseball was. All I knew was that I was excited to receive such an unusual gift. Anxious to try it out, went over to my cousin's house. We got about 15 yards apart and he threw a high popper to me. I reached up with my glove and unfortunately caught the ball on the side of my face - without ever touching the glove. After crying for a few minutes, we got a lot closer and they threw underhand to me until I could learn how to catch the ball. By that evening, I was an old pro and have loved the game ever since.

Ouch, Cleveland Dad -- what an introduction!

quote:

Originally posted by ClevelandDad:
...and unfortunately caught the ball on the side of my face - without ever touching the glove.

If my son answers this question someday, I hope he'll say he got his love of baseball from me.

And, like ClevelandDad's quote about getting hit, I can pick out the day things could have gone the other way for my son.

I think he was 5 or 6 and we got him a "pitchback" for his birthday. Remember that elastic net that you threw the ball against and it would come back to you. If you hit the top it would throw you a ground ball, the bottom would throw you a pop fly.

Well, we all went out back, set the thing up and he rifled a strike right into the center strike zone. The ball shot right back and drilled him right in the eye.

Man, I thought it was all over. Luckily, it wasn't!!!

I think I was born with a passion for baseball. I remember my dad tossing me a whiffle ball I smacked back in his face as a little kid, but he didn't influence my playing. He never taught me how to play. That was the older kids in the neighborhood and hit or miss from playing all the time. My grandmother did take me to every Red Sox game (both games on Monday) during Patriots Day (week) vacation. We spent summer days playing baseball at the park. When we weren't there we were playing whiffle ball or cup ball (bathroom Dixie cups stuffed with newspaper) in the backyard. When we weren't playing live, we were playing Strat-O-Matic. To me the first day of spring was the day in February the new Strat cards arrived in the mail.

I can still remember a day in early March when it was a little warmer than normal. My dad and I were listening to the Sox spring training game while washing the car. I remember the fresh smell of the melting snow and Ken Coleman talking about this Panamanian kid on the Twins who might have the bat to jump from A ball to the majors.

For those who live in year round temperate climates, spring is when it's warm enough to go out and throw. It's the sign it's spring and baseball is back. It's a special time.

My son caught the fever hanging out at his sister's (almost five years older) softball practices. He was two at the time. He wanted to play. He embraced the game when he started playing at seven. From the time he was two every day I came home from work the Little Tikes batting tee and a Little Tikes shopping cart full of whiffle and tennis balls would be out in the yard.

Great posts folks... (RJM, was that Rod Carew? Tony Olivia???)

All these posts really kicked up the emotions in me because as I said my big brother was the answer for me and 6 years ago he died of a sudden anneurysm and the next day my son's team won the legion state tourney... it was a tumultuous set of emotions to plow thru....

Carew. He made it.

I found breaking into daylight on the football field a bigger than any thrill on a baseball field. Basketball was much more exciting to play than baseball. Even though I have a passion for teaching baseball, I'd rather coach a basketball game than a baseball game. It's a high speed chess match. But deep down baseball brings out memories and emotions the other sports can't generate inside.