Greetings, dear readers and my Purple Row colleagues. Rather than launching one of the innumerable adjectives I could use to describe the level of stoke I feel to be here, suffice it to say, I’m amazed. It’s almost as if my girlhood dreams of being an actual baseball player have come true. Of course, at this point in my life, ball players are retired, but the thing I can actually do — write — has led me to the realization of another, far more achievable dream; that of writing about baseball. And specifically, about a team I follow with a devotion that has me glued to the tube countless summer evenings. Summer in Telluride is watching the Rockies on AT&T with Drew, Jeff and Spilly, the workday in the books, a cold drink in hand and wondering if we really would make a Taco Bell run to Montrose (more than an hour away) if the Rox sent seven men across the plate.
My profession is journalism and I am a poet, columnist and freelancer. I play guitar, was once in a rock band, and have an ever-growing record collection my daughter is dreading inheriting. Keith Richards is my muse and a stiff whiskey-ginger, just like my Yankees-loving grandpa drank, sure does take the scowl out of a day in the saddle.
I approach baseball a little differently. I’m not your stats girl — I follow them because numbers do matter, but what matters more is heart. Baseball has a lot of heart. I know soccer is called the beautiful game, but the beauty of baseball is alluring. The subtleties and nuances, the brute strength and the cat-like agility. It’s a game of moments both electric, and afternoon nap-inducing.
And it’s a game of stories. The Sports Illustrated writers I read for decades showed me that. Reading Jim Bouton’s “Ball Four” was like lifting a veil. It made me want to know all the stories.
Fun baseball facts about me: I really do like Cracker Jacks; I have a wind chime that rings “Take Me Out To the Ballgame,” and I ring it before first pitch every Rox game. I’m as superstitious as anyone; when playing sandlot ball as a kid, I once took a thrown ball to the temple as I was running to first — I was most proud of the fact that the seams stood out clearly on my noggin; I grew up in Maryland and still follow the Birds; my 1970 season Topps baseball card collection is essentially my 401K, skeptical husband (with actual 401K) aside.
Let’s do this thing. I’m proud to be a part of this team.
★ ★ ★
Oh, and Nolan Arenado, Gold Glove, has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?
Robo-umps? Here’s what AFL players, coaches have to say | MBL.com
This fascinates me. I’m not one to second guess umps but I nearly lost my eyebrows into my hairline a couple of times during the WS. What if? What the human eye misses in tennis has become inarguable with digital technologies.
The 5 biggest reasons for the Rockies 2019 failure | DNVR ($)
The story nails it, though I’d put injuries higher up on the list as losing pitchers was a stone cold drag from the get-go.