Tuesday, February 24, 2015


When you grow up in Boston, the Red Sox become part of your life at a young age.  Everybody on the block could emulate every player's batting stance.  You knew the lineup inside and out.  You could recite their batting averages on command and you knew the last time they had hit a home run. They were giants! Remy, Scott, Burleson, Fisk, Evans, Lynn, Hobson, Rice, Carbo, Tiant, Stanley, Eck, Lee and Yaz were fan favorites. The Green Monster was a mile high and going to games was the greatest thing that could happen all summer long.

I remember those days like it was yesterday.  Baseball was my favorite sport. The spring rains eventually vanished and you knew Opening Day was just around the corner. It was a great time of year.

As the season rolled along, I'd watch the games with my friends, brothers and my Dad.  Most years led to heartache, but we still followed and loved the Sox.

My passion for the Red Sox turned into playing Little League. Quite often, my brothers were in the same league.  I might not have ever been on any great teams in my youth, but that didn't stop my passion. Whether it was baseball, el socko, whiffle ball or stick ball, we'd muster up a game with the neighborhood kids.

One of my favorite memories of Little League was the smell of fresh cut grass, baseballs puffing into mitts, the ping from the aluminum bats, the chatter, the chewing gum, and the parents cheering us on.

I remember seeing my Mom or Dad in the stands.  Regardless of a bad loss, an error, or an 0 for 4, they were proud. I liked it when they attended games.

My Dad loved taking us to the field after work.  There would be ten kids in the outfield trying to catch what seemed like mammoth hits.  I swear the ball stayed in the air for hours. Those sure were the good old days.

Now...over thirty five years later...I sit on the beginning of baseball season.  I'm not talking about my beloved Red Sox this time or Little League.  I'm talking about my son Ciaran's T-Ball season.

This weekend brings a father and son to a baseball field 3,000 miles from Boston and Fenway Park. The names and faces will be different, but the fresh cut grass, chatter, pinging from bats, and cheers will sound the same, except this time, it will be my wife and I cheering my son on.

Right now the fields in Boston are covered in snow.  It's as high as five feet in some areas.  Their Opening Day is a few months away, but I can't stop thinking about what a winter they've had this year.  From northern Maine to Rhode Island to Connecticut, the baseball fields will come to life with passionate fans and players later next month.

This is Ciaran's first team sport. As team manager, my priority is for the kids to have fun!

I'm sure the little ones will run to the wrong base, chase butterflies in the outfield, ask for ice cream as they are walking to home plate, put the glove on the wrong hand, ask if its over, lose things, and the entire team will chase the ball at once.

Would you have it any other way?

Go Scrappers!


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