Baseball

As a general rule, I do not appreciate watching team sporting events. Football and soccer leave me particularly deadened. The last full game of football I watched was the first year the Denver Broncos won the Super Bowl. I don’t recall the exact year, but I do remember my sister transforming into a fountain of tears and joy at the moment of victory. I cannot explain what I don’t get about these sporting events because, well, I don’t get it.

Except baseball.

I like watching baseball. My grandmother loved the game. I learned what I know of the game form her. I sometimes watched games on television with my grandmother. On occasion, I accompanied her to Legion ballgames in Helena. Granny loved those games where everything went awry, say, when every available pitcher put on the mound got clobbered out of the park by the batters and the coach, in desperation, shoved infielders and outfielders up there and let them toss an inning or two of wild pitches. Typically, the fielders did pretty well because the batters stood there in fear of their lives. My grandmother enjoyed a colorful player and the goofy rituals performed by some batters when they stepped up to the plate—the bat-swishers and spitters and three-time dirt-stampers.

Last night, I went to a Helena Brewers, Pioneer League game with all of my visiting family. Natural to this season, the Brewers should have just phoned-in a loss and saved the embarrassment, but even with that, I enjoyed the game. With baseball, I know what I like. For one thing, I appreciate the high level of fan participation—not only the standard heckling and stomping, but the fact that you can, as did my niece, catch a foul ball and take it home. I appreciate that every player has a specific identity by position played. They are equal part individual and team player. Baseball is also a game of distinct sounds. The umpires growling strike calls. The swack of a fastball finding the catcher’s mitt. The crack of a well-hit ball to the outfield. The fish-dropped-to-the-floor sound of a batter getting hit by a pitch. Last night, I even imagined the sound of my grandmother’s voice at times, cursing a player or umpire for their infractions.

I am not crazy about a baseball game. I would never consider a season pass. But I enjoy baseball enough game that I might attend one on occasion, and anything that takes me back to my grandmother is good.

--Mitchell Hegman