American Tradition (Guest Blogger)

Baseball. America's Pastime. The Boys of Summer. All three names represent the greatest game ever played. There is something nearly spiritual about the dew covered diamond early in the morning, the smell of a leather glove, the crack of a wooden bat, the roar of the crowd, and the taste of a ball park hot dog. Nothing comes close to the unbelievable thrill and excitement of the opposing batter swinging, his bat desperately seeking to connect with the red laced, cork centered, leather bound projectile, only to miss completely, giving tremendous elation to the home team fans rising to their feet as the ball strikes the catcher's mitt with a smack. Yet, even greater than this is the joy and delight I see on the faces of my children as I look down the row of seats and watch as their eyes light up in the reflection of the night-game lights, while they eat Cracker Jacks and observe history repeating itself and being made all at the same time.

Baseball has a long tradition in the U.S., dating back to the 1850s. The game survived The Great Depression, both World Wars, The Black Sox Scandal, the Steroid Age, and the big strike in 1994 that caused the cancellation of the World Series. Young ball players all over the country have looked to baseball’s greats for inspiration. Players like Gil Hodges, Mickey Mantle, Babe Ruth, Jackie Robinson, Hank Aaron, Wade Boggs, Reggie Jackson. Some of my personal favorites are Nolan Ryan, Rickie Henderson, Ken Griffey Jr., Frank Thomas, Travis Fryman, Cecil Fielder, and Randy Johnson.

I remember my first major league game at Tiger’s Stadium and I still have the miniature wooden bat my dad bought as a souvenir for my brother and me. I recall countless times of sitting in front of the TV on a Saturday afternoon watching the game, or being on the road headed to either grandparents' house listening to Ernie Harwell on the radio. It was through these mediums that I directly or indirectly became involved in Little League Baseball.

Twenty-five or so years later, I am standing next to my wife and daughters on a spring day that could rival paradise, leaning on the fence in center field watching my son take part in his first Little League Baseball Opening Day Celebration. My eyes well up with tears as I see him enter the field in his new uniform among the 3 to 400 other players pounding their gloves eagerly awaiting the highly anticipated first pitch of the year. But before one ball is tossed, one bat is swung, or one strike is called, three things must happen. First, local representatives from the Veterans of Foreign Wars march proudly out to just behind the pitcher’s mound displaying our nation’s colors. Second, the local flag is tipped in salute to Old Glory as the riflemen stand with their weapons paralleling their bodies while the first note of the National Anthem blasts from a trumpet. Every player and fan stands focused on our flag with their hat or hand over their hearts paying tribute to our country. The third, and most compelling to me, is the recitation of the Little League Pledge. I don’t recall ever saying this pledge when I was young but to hear it being said by an entire league of ballplayers was worth all the effort on its own. The pledge goes like this;

I trust in God
I love my country
and will respect its laws
I will play fair
and strive to win
But win or lose
I will always do my best

As the ceremony comes to a close you can feel the excitement building as every young ball player waits to hear those magic words. Their palms are sweaty, their hearts pound, and their legs are restless. And like a horse out of the gate as the bell clangs at the start, the league commissioner yells, “Play Ball!” With ball caps flying through the air, the season officially kicks off.

I am proud of the baseball tradition my family and I have maintained through the years. For my son I hope that he remembers the seven seasons I coached high school baseball and the time he spent helping as the bat boy or tossing a ball with the players. I know that he’ll remember being fans of two home teams, our beloved Detroit Tigers and our local Washington Nationals. I hope he remembers his first major league park experience at Camden Yards and his first trip to Comerica Park to watch the Tigers at home. But most of all I hope he remembers the pledge; to trust in God, love his country, and always do his best. If that is not the greatest American tradition I don’t know what could be.