Baseball is a gift to me.

Baseball is something that can help you in everything that you needed to know in life.

My father and I don't have much in common but one thing is baseball that we can always talk about.  My dad was an umpire since before I can remember. Players would tower over him, coaches would see him as a stocky man, but when he came out on the field he was the boss. He would never say anything negative, he would never raise his voice, you could hear him call out a strike from the top of the bleacher, and you never lost track of the game because of him.

He was like a kid in a candy store every time he would put his gear on. There was this little smile that was infectious. He has been playing ball since he was a knee high and the dirt of the field was in his blood. He met my mother on a baseball field. There was something about this sport that defined him and I love this sport because of it.

My poor father had no sons and so my sister and I learned the sport. We could never get into softball as much as baseball. Don't get me wrong, it's a noble sport there is something I think disproportionate about it. How is that women, who have smaller hands, get to throw a much bigger ball? My sister and I would learn how to keep score, oil gloves, knew the different types of pitches, how to swing, what was legal and what wasn't. We learned the gospels of DiMaggio, Clemente, Robinson, and Mays. Playing the game was a privilege and winning was just icing on the cake. 

Going to high-school, I didn't have my own name I was known as "Al's kid" because my father umpired, coached or they have come into my parent's video store to talk baseball cards or watch a game, there was something about spring that would call to me. I wished sometimes that I was a boy because that meant that I can play ball. My guy friends would ask me if my dad was going to umpire the game and I would hold a certain pride and also giddiness that they would even talking to me when I said that I didn't know. 

There was one game that was on my high school field that would stay in my mind the most. It was the most angry I have seen my dad over a sport and the first time I was yelling at the blue.

It was an afternoon game, my dad and I come up into the parking lot, always early never late, his partner was late. I was thinking that maybe Dad had to do this one alone, wouldn't be the first time. I don't remember his name, the car he came in, but I do remember the smell. It was that combination of alcohol and not bathing, uniform wasn't ironed and there was an air that this was going to be a long day. My Dad had that same idea and told me to get the score chart from the back. 

The game started bad from the get go. The visiting was worn out and poor starting pitch was being told to throw a change up but never could get it together. My Dad was slowly getting frustrated with his partner. During the breaks he would take a drink and smell more like an sweaty old man. Then it came.

There was a blown call. A very bad blown call and unfortunately I can't remember but it was bad. Both teams were off their benches trying to figure put what happened. My Dad got the crowds to calm down and the game ended, but the battle brewing underneath that catcher's mask was just starting. 

My friend Casey, who pitched only three innings, came up to me and was asking me what was going on next to my car. I knew better not to get into it. The teams knew, the parents knew, Casey knew and I knew that someone was drunk and that someone was in a umpire uniform. It was a very quiet ride home. 

That same year was a few things in baseball were happening. Cal Ripken Jr. one of my dad's favorite players was retiring.  I remember only three years earlier, when Angels in the out field was my favorite movie, Cal broke the most constitutive games played. My Dad and I were watching the game and knowing that history was being made and once again three years later we were watching the man that saved baseball retire.  

Roger Marris's 61 home run record was going to be broken. I was caught up with trying to keep up with the orchestrated drama that was high school but there was one thing that I wanted to know was what was the home run count. I have known of Mark McGwire because the hitting contest between Ken Griffey Jr. and McGwire was epic. The King Dome was falling apart and it was because of the homers. I didn't care who did it, I was in love with Marris. He played with Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, and to me one of the most under stated and one of the most graceful players one the game. Yeah, I was just a prayer in the wind when he was playing but to me Mantle and Marris were the best. McGwire got it, the world was mad at a president for being a cheating man, and there were was a calm back in the force that was baseball. 

Every episode of memory I have of my Dad is in this sport. I love baseball because of him and no matter what material gifts he has given me the love of baseball is one that will stay with me forever.