There’s nothing like a $4 hotdog, or sweating your “you know what” off on a hot Summer day, or sitting in one spot on a metal bleacher watching a grueling 2 – 1 shootout over the span of 3 hours…there’s nothing like baseball. It is America’s pastime, you know. In all seriousness though, baseball has taken a lot of heat lately, and its “America’s pastime” status has to be at this point considered dead, or at the very least facing imminent doom with the likes of the NFL and NASCAR gobbling up all of the public’s attention. In many people’s eyes, much like watching Larry Johnson play after he hurt his back (who knew the Grandmama ad campaign would be so fitting), baseball is just not what it once was…and following shortened seasons due to lockouts and the infamous steroid era, a lot of folks probably feel that it doesn’t even deserve to regain it’s former glory. What do I think? Hang on, hang on…sheesh. I think, in the words of the almighty, “Judge not lest ye be judged.” (How’s that for the biggest cop out answer of the year!) No, for real, I think baseball probably earned some of the lackluster support it now lumbers through, but here’s how I really feel: as I sit here, right now, at a AAA Richmond Braves game writing this blog on my phone (yes, with a qwerty keyboard, email, Microsoft Office, and a full web browser, my phone could easily beat up your honor student…and if you’re struggling with the concept of someone writing a full blog on a phone while at a professional sports game, I’ll just say two things, “That’s how I roll” and “welcome to the 21st century.”), I say we view the negative of baseball’s past as water under the bridge and focus instead on embracing the future…cause from where I’m sitting (even waaaaay up here) it looks pretty darn good.Granted, other sports may frequently be more exciting, more intense, maybe even a little bit cooler, but there is something extra special about sitting at the ole ball game. There’s a certain quality to it, an aura, a kind of je ne sais quoi. And while it is one of those things that maybe is impossible to fully put a finger on, I think its magic is derived from two things: history and tradition, both which are inexplicably intertwined.

What popular American sport has as much history as baseball? Can you compare Michael Jordan’s stats with the dominant basketball player of the 1890′s? Can you name fans for a hockey team that have had to faithfully endure an 86 year curse? Can you think of another sport where certain team’s uniforms haven’t changed in a century? Can you show me other sports in which the rules have been basically static for decades? I can’t. It’s the history, man. When you sit in the bleachers at Fenway, or Wrigley, or Yankee Stadium, or heck…even the local little league field, you feel like in some way you’re sitting where your forefathers sat, like you’re following in their footsteps. You feel like great grandpa would be proud.

Remember that musical where they sing, “Tradition….tradition!” Yeah, I don’t know the name of it either (and I guarantee I won’t be writing any blogs on musicals any time soon), but it happened, that much I know. Tradition…there couldn’t be a more perfect word to describe baseball. Quick, off the top of your head, list me off the other sports where all the fans stand up and sing in unison at the same time every game, and everybody knows the words? Tell me about another sport where superstition won’t allow you step on the lines as you travel on and off of the playing field? What about the rally cap, sunflower seeds, or the equivalent of a throwing it around the horn? When you are at a the diamond singing the songs, wearing your hat, looking at all the kids with their gloves on just hoping to catch a foul ball, you all of a sudden understand why the storied traditions of baseball sustain their longevity..

I guess the bottom line is that when attending a baseball game you feel like you’re where you belong, like you’re home. You know what it is? You feel like a good American. In fact, as I sit back now, fighting back tears (just kidding about the tears, I had to make a quick joke to break up the nostalgia) and watching an old lady almost die at the hands of a screaming foul ball (and that’s no joke…she’s lucky it missed her because she did not possess the reaction time to properly deal with it), I can’t help but smile (and not because old women are in peril around me either). I can’t help but smile because it seems like baseball still has some gas left in the tank, and you know what, even when it’s running on just fumes it’s still a pretty darn good game…maybe even worthy to be called “America’s pastime?” Well, I’ll let you decide that for yourself, but in the meantime if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go trade 4 crisp one dollar bills straight up for an undersized, sub par, warmed up hotdog…hmmm, I can taste it now. There’s really nothing like it.