Embracing My Journey: Baseball, Writing, and Life's Lessons

Introduction: A Love of Baseball and a Unique Starting Point

Some of my earliest memories—at least the fond ones—involve America's Pastime, baseball. I'll never forget being seven years old when David Justice gave Tom Glavine the one run he needed in Game 6 of the 1995 World Series with a solo home run off then-Indians lefty Jim Poole. I didn’t see the heartbreak of losing to the Twins in ‘91 after the Kirby Puckett home run. I didn’t witness the loss to Toronto in ‘92. Mitch Williams wasn’t wearing a Braves uniform when Joe Carter took him deep in ‘93. But I was watching on TV in my great-aunt’s apartment that night in October of ‘95. Anytime I see the clip online now, along with the final out of the ‘95 World Series, I can feel the relief they must have felt knowing they’d finally done it. It takes me back to my childhood. That's what baseball is to me—a gateway to a simpler time.

Baseball was and still is more than just a sport to me. It was a language, a connection, and a passion that I've carried with me to this day. But with my unique abilities—or lack thereof if you prefer—my relationship with the game I love so dearly took a unique path from a young age. I wasn't fast enough to run down a fly ball in the outfield. My lower body wasn't strong enough to maintain balance on a pitcher's mound. I wasn't tall enough to play first base. Being left-handed narrowed my options even further. Still, I found a place around baseball, just not in the way I expected.

Living with Cerebral Palsy: When the Body Has Other Plans

Cerebral palsy came into my life without an invitation, bringing a set of rules I never asked for. I refused to follow them if I could help it. I didn't have any issues gripping a bat or throwing—my throwing arm was actually one of my strengths. But the harsh reality became clear as I got older: I wasn't fast enough to run the bases effectively. The positions available to left-handed players required either speed or height, neither of which I possessed. I was no Tom Glavine on the mound either. Perhaps most concerning to my parents was that one well-placed blow to the head from a baseball could have had catastrophic consequences for me.

I played Little League until I was nine. After that, my parents put a stop to it, leading to what I can only describe as a battle of wills. I remember missing it, being on the field. I remember resenting my parents for what felt like an arbitrary decision. But as I got older, I understood their reasoning and came to terms with a hard truth: baseball was not for me in a physical sense.

Family Influence: Learning the Game from Grandpa

My grandfather played a crucial role in fostering my love of baseball, along with his sister, whom I mentioned in my previous baseball-themed article. Grandpa was and is a traditionalist in every sense of the word. Whether he did it intentionally to open up more field positions for me, I'm not sure, but he attempted to teach me to bat and throw right-handed. What resulted was a switch-hitting left-handed thrower—a unique combination that added to my disappointment when I realized I wouldn't be pursuing baseball competitively.

At the plate, I was much more comfortable from the left side and didn't get many at-bats from the right side. His protests about my throwing left-handed ended when I got my first assist from right field. I couldn't do much on the baseball field, but one thing I could do was throw. We joke about it now, and despite the initial frustration, I thank Grandpa for making the effort to teach me the game I now love so much.

Even knowing I would probably never don a uniform, I still loved going to games when I could. Grandpa took me to my first major league game in Milwaukee, and for many years, we made it a yearly ritual. I got to see Chipper Jones, my idol at the time and the reason I stuck with switch-hitting, play one of his last games in Milwaukee in 2012. Though I was in enemy territory, the sights and sounds of the game itself made those thoughts disappear in an instant. The crack of the bat, the slapping of leather as players throw and catch baseballs, and the call of vendors created memories that shaped both the man and the writer I became.

Finding My True Position: From Player to Student

Not being physically capable of performing at a high level on the field didn't mean I had to leave baseball behind. Instead, I loved baseball from an analytical perspective. I wrote about this to an extent in one of my Blogger posts, which I'll link here. I became a stat enthusiast and really leaned into broadcasting, which I mentioned briefly in my "Evolution of Fan Loyalty" post on this blog. I became a student of the game, letting my mind run the bases that my legs couldn't.

Watching my siblings pursue their own athletic paths reinforced both my love for the game and my acceptance of my role as observer rather than participant. My brother could hit a ball a country mile, and though he wasn't especially fast, he still ran better than me. My sister was a pitcher with a riseball that opponents couldn't hit even when they knew it was coming. Now I support my niece during softball season, and she possesses the height and power I wish I'd had at her age. It also doesn’t hurt to mention she is right-handed, which would not preclude her from the positions I missed out on even if she wasn’t tall. Am I living vicariously through her in an athletic sense? Perhaps, but it's also a genuine love of the game itself. I felt the same way when my siblings played. I couldn't play at that age, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t provide support and advice through my knowledge of the game. I do the same thing with my niece now, just like other family members did with me when I was young.

Embracing Writing: Finding My Calling as a Blogger

As I got older, I realized there were other avenues through which I could pursue baseball aside from playing. I knew from a young age I wanted to pursue writing in some capacity, so combining these two passions was a natural progression. I didn't always publish what I wrote—I didn't start doing that until I launched this blog in 2022. But I wrote many stories before then. I was even on my school's newspaper during my senior year of high school. Looking back, I think if I'd taken that more seriously, I'd be a better and more consistent writer now, but we can't change the past.

I wouldn't see my true calling as a writer until I started this blog in 2022. Before then, I thought I would keep my writings hidden away in notebooks or leave them in digital purgatory. With my first proper story—not just a glorified draft I hit publish on to say I did it—I made my passion for writing and love of baseball available to the world.

What began as a way to process my feelings and, if I'm being honest, a potential income source that hasn't materialized yet, quickly turned into something more meaningful: a way to connect with people. The internet became my baseball field, and my keyboard became my bat. Each post was a swing for the fences, my way of showing what makes baseball, as well as life, so special.

Encouragement: Your Calling is Waiting

If you're reading this and feel stuck, like your path is blocked by limitations, you're not alone. Life presents challenges to everyone, and we all approach them differently. No challenge is too great if you want something enough. Sometimes, the best opportunities find you after you've taken a detour on the road of life. Detours change our perspective, often in the best ways. Your calling may not look like you imagined as a kid, but it's out there waiting for you to step in the box and take a swing.

I'm proof of how detours can shape and enhance one's life. If I were to tell my 18-year-old self that I'd be writing and publishing on my own blog at this stage in life, he'd tell me I was crazy—assuming he even knew what I was talking about. I often wonder what would have happened if I'd taken different paths along the way. What if I'd started high school at the smaller school my parents had originally planned? Would being away from my usual friends have left me more focused on academics? What if I had known about early blogging platforms in the late 90s and early 2000s? Would I have ended up here sooner, perhaps in a better place?

But there's no way to know, so there's no sense troubling my brain about it. When you're alone in the dark, it's easy to fall into speculation, to wonder "What if?" My advice is to accept where you are and who you've become. Self-improvement, no matter the degree, is grounds for celebration.

Conclusion: Acceptance and Celebration

I never wore a team jersey in a real game. I was never responsible for a game-winning hit, game-saving play, or masterful pitching performance. In writing things down, however, I found something much more meaningful. I learned to celebrate who I am instead of mourning the loss of who I thought I'd be. I learned to embrace what makes me different instead of shying away from it. I've turned my passion into a purpose.

Whether you're a player on the field, a fan in the stands, or a writer behind a screen like me, the game has a place for you. This applies to all sports and life in general. You have a place, and it's wherever you want to be. Don't be afraid to forge your own path to get there.