Love Letter to America’s Favorite Pastime

Dear Baseball,

I owe you an apology. The biggest apology I have ever given. And I only give apologies out of love.

Yes, my dear Baseball. I love you.

You have always known this; it has been our unspoken bond for all these years. But you are also aware that I have been unfaithful. Not in my actions, but in my heart. Forgive me, dear Baseball. I love you.

Changing times alter our old traditions, as you know. I found myself grown wearied by separation from my team– five long hours of driving and no money to spare on tickets. You were a distant memory, one which could be, I thought, if not replaced at least set aside. I tried to find you in my new home. You were waiting, but it just wasn’t the same. Not without the old things, the old people around me. I considered going alone, returning to you with little company to offer you, but it did not seem to be enough. When I accompanied others, some of them claimed special ownership over you. I know you love them, too, Baseball. I can share my love for you with others who are willing to share, but I confess that I grew jealous of those who thought that their bond with you was stronger than mine.

Forgive me, Baseball. I love you.

Yesterday reforged our bond. You felt it, and so did I. I fought it, but there is no fighting true love. We have fate on our side, the fate of a perfect match. You are my perfect match, Baseball. I love you.

Others will write to you in sparkling details about bats cracking in the summer time, the ineffable whoosh of a fast ball. You know that that is not our story, Baseball. Our story is much more than that.

I sang for you, Baseball. Do you remember that? Opening Game, there I was on the Second Base line. That was our moment, Baseball. I’m so glad you remember too. And then came the ill-fitting baseball pants and the large hat over curly hair. You marked me as your own, Baseball. You knew I belonged with you, even then. And yes, there were small bumps along the way. The photographer who thought my freckle was a booger? That was a difficult day, but thankfully I blamed him and not you. Never you. You would never think such a thing about me. Never make such a terrible mistake. And I had my place in your stadium. My seat, my spot. The spot where all was right with the world. Second game of every season, there I was, rain or shine, french fries and lemonade in hand. I knew, with that powerful, indescribable feeling, where I belonged.

Baseball, I love you.

And although times have changed, I have seen the error of my ways. You were always waiting for me, Baseball. So patient, so accepting. You knew I’d come back to you. You knew that nothing could replace the love we share. You are perfect, Baseball, in my eyes. And although today will mark the end of yet another season, I know that I will use this time when we are apart to become a better person. A person who does not deny the most basic part of herself– the baseball fan. We will be together forever, Baseball. You will see, come Spring Training, that my devotion, though subdued, has never vanished. It will be a dark time, Baseball. A time of great introspection. A time when I must seek out why I have given you less priority than you deserve. But I promise you that you will be on my mind, counting down the days until you return to me.

And when you return, we shall celebrate this new chapter in our lives.

Baseball, my dear, dear Baseball. I love you.


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