I love baseball.
Ok, so I love a lot of sports, but I desperately want baseball to return this summer. I really hope it does. I don’t care if it’s a shortened season. The crack of the bat and ball coming together is a sound I’ll never get tired of hearing.
Growing up in the ’70s and '80s just outside a small town in North Dakota, baseball was our life in the summer. And my small town was actually rather well-known for its baseball prowess. There are probably state championship banners still hanging from the rafters in the old school gymnasium, right there next to the words of our old school fight song.
When we weren’t playing organized summer league or school baseball, I could often be found in the yard with my brothers playing catch or whiffle ball. If you hit that little plastic ball over the house (not an easy feat), it was an automatic home run. So you can bet we would often swing with purpose! Those nights with my brothers are the stuff of legend! (In our own minds at least.)