When I was eight years old, my dad took me to an I-Cubs game, a rare sporting event in my childhood. The I-Cubs are an AAA team that is the testing ground for the major league team, the Chicago Cubs. During the third inning, I turned to my dad and asked him when the game was going to start. That, in nutshell, describes my relationship with baseball.
When I was twelve, I decided to join little league. I didn’t really know anything about baseball, but the concept was simple: hit the ball and run around the bases. Basically it was kickball with more danger. The first meeting was at a public park with dozens of kids. Granted, the neighborhood wasn’t too nice and I did notice that the grounds and fencing were a little shabby. What I didn’t notice was a drug deal happening on the corner as we were dividing up into teams. Needless to say, I didn’t get to go back. My baseball career ended before it had even started.
