Christmas in April, Passion in October

For me, Opening Day in baseball is like Christmas or my birthday.

The playoffs in October are when I chew my nails off watching games.

After going to my first Red Sox game when I was 8 years old I began asking my father to take me to Opening Day with him. He told me he’d do it my senior year of high school. I’m not sure if he thought I’d give up, forget what he said, or if he was testing me. Every year I reminded him of his promise, and sure enough I went to Opening Day with him my senior year of high school. I was so giddy I told my teachers I was going to Opening Day – forget about “calling in sick,” I was going to Fenway Park and no one could stop me.

To that point, it was the most exciting game I had ever been to. The buzz around the stadium was different, and it suited me. These were the die-hard fans, tens of thousands of others who felt the same way I did about the Red Sox and baseball and how important both were to life.

Why baseball? Two reasons. First, if you look at mainstream American sports you’ll find a pattern through all except baseball: the game is timed. You don’t have to be the better team that day, you just have to outlast your opponent. In baseball you have to beat your opponent; you have to score more runs than they do, and you have to get 27 outs. There is no time clock to save you if you start falling apart late. Second, it’s a game of constant strategy. The team on the field adjusts their positions for each batter, depending on the game’s situation. The pitcher is at odds with the batter, each trying to find a way to use their knowledge of each other’s habits, strengths, weaknesses, the field, and how everyone is positioned to their advantage. Pure strategy.

In 2003 the Red Sox blew their best chance to return to the World Series in 17 years. To word it more accurately, I watched my heroes fall once again to their rivals in a war that always seemed to favor them and not us. To be even more precise, I could not taste food for the next three days, that’s how miserable I was.

The next season ended in the most glorious fashion ever. On the verge of being swept in another lost battle in a war we could never win, somehow the Red Sox came back. They pulled off four straight wins after losing the first three, which no one in MLB history had ever done. They followed suit to sweep the World Series and had a lead in every single inning of those four games. As they got the final out I dropped to my knees from the chair I was sitting in and cried. All I could think about was how my aunt, who I was close to and had passed away in 2003, never lived long enough to see this. I felt like a burden I was carrying for her was gone. She never had a son, so she took to my interest in sports as if I were her son, coming to my basketball and baseball games and never missing playoff games. I cried hard, barely made a sound, and when I could breathe again I began calling people to celebrate.

How is any of this relevant? Having a passion (or three) in life is crucial. People who care can sway someone’s opinion; passionate people can convert thousands of people at once. My family converted me to being a baseball fan and Red Sox fan. I’ve taught friends the beauty of baseball. Others have gotten me interested in their passions because of how powerful they sound talking about it.

Philosophy: share your passions with others, and share in others’ passions.