Play Ball!

During a student advisory group meeting in eighth grade, I had a fellow group member -- and baseball teammate -- describe me thusly, “Gary eats, sleeps and dreams baseball.” He was right.

And for anyone like me, there is no better place to be than Cooperstown, N.Y., the home of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. You see, as a youth I lingered over box scores, voted multiple times for the All-Star Game, learned to keep score from my mother, collected baseball cards and, during an era before 24/7 access, gobbled up any highlight. That’s not to mention cajoling my father into games of catch or hitting grounders to me or gathering with my friends to play 500 or a pick-up game.

Boy, did I want to play infield in the Major Leagues. As far as I got were two offers to walk on at small colleges following high school. A career coach told me many years later I failed to reach my goal because I didn’t dream big enough. I debated his assessment with far more concrete evidence, such as my diminutive stature, inability to hit a curve ball and talent deficit.

But where my skills let me down, my affection for the game remained. And at the hall of fame, I was reminded how much I loved baseball.

In the Presence of Greatness

Part of my swell of passion was borne from a wide-eyed, childlike enthusiasm I felt in the Hall of Fame Gallery. It was the first exhibit area I visited, eager to see the plaque of all who are enshrined. I lingered over entry after entry -- pointing out some favorites to my son -- Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, Tony Perez. (I had a thing for the Big Red Machine when I was a kid.) There were more: George Brett, Hank Aaron, Lou Brock and Ryne Sandberg, to name a few.

Plus, we made sure to snap photos of Minnesota Twins inductees to send to my wife. (I am a lucky man to have such a sports fan for a bride.) She grew up in the Twin Cities and has long admired the diamond exploits of Rod Carew and Kirby Puckett. And I remember my mother, who grew up in North Dakota, regaling me with the long-ball talents of Harmon Killibrew.

After we explored the gallery, we headed to the second floor, taking a seat in the Grandstand Theater. The presentation -- all sights and sounds of being at a game and the memories they make -- left me wistful. I recalled, with a lump in my throat, of Triple-A ballgames with my now-deceased parents, as well as family road trips to watch the Kansas City Royals or Chicago Cubs.

More memories followed in the Locker Room, which was a lasting highlight for me. Each of the Major League’s 30 teams has a locker filled with artifacts dedicated to team history and prominent players. Plus, there were video highlights from games I remembered watching. My boy was “forced” to watch more than a few of those highlights, accompanied by his dad’s nostalgic narration.

That interaction between a father and son could not have been more appropriate in Cooperstown. Baseball, with its pace of play and long history, remains an ultimate venue for generations to pass along traditions and treasured recollections to the generations that follow.

My son may never eat, sleep and dream baseball like I did, but he will remember how much his dad loved the game. That alone will make baseball special to him, too.

Planning Your Trip

For more information about the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, visit baseballhall.org. For vacation-planning assistance, contact your AAA Travel agent or visit AAA.com/travel.