Baseball players don't cry, right? You can't cry on the field...but I was. Sure, everyone who truly loves sports or has a personal interest or affiliation with a certain sports team, whether college, professional, or any other level, realizes at some point that athletics mean something to them. Maybe it's the times before big games on college football Saturdays when you feel butterflies causing turmoil in your gut, the nerves eating at you as you hope and pray that your team ends the day victorious. Maybe it's the times that you wake up miserable, curled up in the fetal position after your favorite team lost to a rival or was booted from the playoffs. These times make you realize that sports mean something to you more than just having something to do. It's not a game anymore, it's a passion, even if your playing years are behind you.
Sports certainly mean a lot to me personally. Let's revisit the crying boy standing on the diamond. I'll be honest, I was not a great baseball player when I was younger, always smaller and less talented, but I tried. As I got older and practiced more, I got better and I held my own on varsity in high school. But at one time, I stood in the middle of centerfield on the dying (or already dead) grass and cried, feeling more alone than I can ever remember feeling, simply because I could not catch a damn fly ball. It was a normal practice, and at that time in my baseball "career" I was an outfielder primarily, but did pitch a little. It may have been the first practice with a new team, and I distinctly remember some of my elementary school friends playing with me. Some were better, some not, but on this particular day I dropped nearly every fly ball hit by the coach swinging a stupid metal fungo (they should ALWAYS be wood). After several opportunities, the coach must've noticed how upset I was, and stopped practice to talk to me and tell me it was alright. Yeah, that helped...
I was terribly embarrassed, and it was one of the only times I ever felt sorry for myself so much that I cried on the field. Sure, my dad was a college baseball player at FSU during his time, but he never forced it on me and I could've quit at any time. This is when I knew sports meant something to me. I never contemplated quitting, and I kept trying, and I was proud of myself all throughout high school as I played fairly well, pitching a considerable number of innings and only giving up two earned runs the entire season my senior year, both to a team ranked number one in the nation by several reputable polls at one point. I just couldn't imagine life without baseball at that time, and both the sadness I had felt and my desire to keep playing allowed me to understand my true love for the game.
