Day 23: Opening Day

Baseball’s back! A new season dawns and every team and every fan brims with hope. I miss this game on lazy days. Baseball is not something I generally seek out outside of opening day and the playoffs but I will never turn away from it either. Few games are as pleasant, as good of background material, as baseball. That’s not why I love the game, though. I love the game because of Ernie Harwell and a little radio I received when I was about seven years old. That’s a guess. I can’t remember the year, or the occasion, but I remember that radio like it was yesterday. It was a something-something-something SUPERRADIO, a little box with a long antenna and one big speaker, with a one-inch tweeter nestled next to it. It found its home alongside my pillow and remained there for years, playing softly as I drifted off to sleep every night.

Is it odd for a elementary school kid to fall in love with talk radio? Probably. I was hooked into a call-in psychology program from the beginning. I don’t remember the name of the first host I began following but I do remember his voice and my outrage when he was phased out and Laura Schleschinger took his place. Perhaps this was the start of my own desire to pursue counseling, a drive that has followed me throughout the years since. Maybe it was a way to try to understand my dad’s profession. Most likely it was just something that appealed to my sensitive, intellectual little brain. I never would have found those programs, though, without baseball. The Tigers played on the same station all summer long and I tuned in every night they played. I followed the games as long as I could before sleep took over. I learned every player’s name and so much more besides. Baseball announcers have the time to share stories and insights other commentators don’t and Ernie Harwell’s narratives painted the sport for me in quiet, subtle hues. He never relied on bombast, or a catch phrase, or any gimmick to enliven his broadcasts. He just told the story of the game, both the game of the night and the game as he knew it across the years. Trips to Tigers’ Stadium (at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull!) may have been rare for our family but I was with the team every night regardless.

Today I’m catching a little of opening day between the Tigers and the always-formidable New York Yankees. The game is on a high definition television with a generic ESPN coverage team. They are excellent at their jobs but have no connection to me, nor to either team. They are professionals and will call any game they encounter. They can’t hold a candle to the local guys who follow one team and one team only, who get to know the players and the fans and tell their story every night. Three hours per game, 162 games a year- that’s time to tell a story. That’s what baseball is to me as much as anything. Not a sport. Not a pastime. A story, told slowly over time, and one that I could join each evening. Every night I could hear something new but I could also always drift off to sleep, knowing that tomorrow would bring another game and a new chapter.