The following was in response to a question posed by a sports columnist in our local paper, The Wenatchee World.

What can lay claim to your love and passion for the better part of a lifetime? There is family, perhaps your faith in God and maybe a friend or two.  I add to that short list, baseball. My fervor as a sports fan has narrowed over the years and now focuses primarily on baseball and specifically the San Francisco Giants, with a nod to the Seattle Mariners. It’s all rather simple. I grew up about 10 miles south of the city by the bay, just a few years after the Giants had left New York for the west coast.  Until their recent success, the 1960’s had been the golden age of the Giants. Their lineup card was a glimpse into baseball’s Hall of Fame. A Giants box score showed names like Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Juan Marichal, Gaylord Perry, and Orlando Cepeda; all in their prime and all destined for Cooperstown. That they only appeared in one World Series during those years is still a mystery and a confirmation that baseball is fundamentally about pitching. Still, it was a wonderful time to come of age as a baseball fan.

Why do I root? As a boy, it was the joy of seeing men playing a kid’s game, my game, a game that I loved. It made me dream; dream that I could some day play at Candlestick Park. The notion that you could actually get paid to play baseball was almost beyond comprehension. That I would have played for nothing goes without saying.  It was more a question of how much would I have paid to play. The dream of wearing “the black and orange” took a long time to fade, but fade it did under the reality of my own limitations.

The dream may have ended, but the fond memories of falling asleep listening to Russ Hodges and Lon Simmons on the radio, or watching a televised game, (there were only nine each year) against the hated Dodgers, endure to this day. I was at Candlestick with my parents on the last day of the 1962 season when a Willie May home run and a Dodger loss to the Cardinals meant San Francisco and Los Angeles were tied after 162 games, and would play three more to decide who would meet the Yankees. These and other Giant moments are some of the most vivid memories of my formative years.

Yet over half a century later, why do I still root? Simply put, there are few better ways to connect to the joys of my childhood and the memory of my dad, (who took me to Game 1 of the 1962 World Series).  Baseball remains a great way to share life with my entire extended family, siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews, but most of all, my 88 year old mom who watches the Mariners faithfully. My nod to the Mariners goes back to that magical 1995 season when my wife and our two boys experienced the unique thrill of a pennant race. We all watched together, as Edgar Martinez hit that double down the left field line, to give the Mariners the win over the Yankees in Game 5 of the Divisional Series. In the final analysis, I root because as Ken Griffey Jr. looked up from the dog pile at home plate, in that iconic Mariner moment, he smiled. And baseball makes me smile.  Yes, that’s why I root.

PS  I was supposed to be at that game, but we were watching at home.  That’s a story for another day!

Spring, what’s not to like? The very sound of the word should put a bounce in your step as you shake off the lingering effects of winter and embrace the warmth, light and promise of spring. This year, I did not see the grass in my yard from December 6 until after President’s day. And then it snowed again and covered it all back up, albeit the melting has started in earnest now that the calendar shows March. Don’t get me wrong, I love snow and I am actually one of those who would like winter to last till at least April. I never complain when the white stuff is falling. Bring on the snow blower and the shovels. Grab the snow brushes and scrapers for the car windows and don’t forget to buy the ice melt before everybody in town runs out. Winter is my favorite season and I’m convinced that everything looks better covered with a blanket of snow. I haven’t even begun to talk about my passion for all things skiing; downhill, cross country, (classic and skating), alpine touring and ski shoeing on my Altai Hok skis. (see YouTube video on Hok Skis https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDkigQJegcc)

I have been on some type of ski almost 70 times since late November of last year. It started with skiing into the woods to cut our Christmas tree. I should be able to ski well into April or even early May. However, come this time of year, I do start to pay attention to news coming out of Arizona. This is the season when my passions collide. In the words of John Fogarty, “there’s new grass on the field.” I love baseball and my allegiance to the San Francisco Giants goes back to 1961, pre dating my first skiing experience by about eight years. Fortunately, these pursuits only cross paths in the early spring and although memorably one time in late October. In 2012, we had an early snowfall in the mountains and I was cross-country skiing on the morning of October 27. I was home in plenty of time to watch the Giants beat the Detroit Tigers to take a 3-0 lead in the World Series. They would wrap it up the next night, completing a four game sweep. How often can you enjoy the best of both your favorites? I got the cake, the icing and an extra piece that day. It’s a great memory that comes to mind each year as the snow starts to become visible on the ridge tops and baseball enters the post season.

Of course the snow will melt this spring like it does every year, and that’s a good thing. My good bye to winter will be easier because I will have settled into the promise and hopes of a new season. Opening Day overshadows everything, and even though I’ll still be skiing for a little while longer, I’ll probably be listening to the ball game as I ride the chair lift or explore one of my favorite trails on my skinny skis. Spring will give way to summer and the rhythm of baseball will replace the rhythm and magic of skiing in all its forms. The crack of the bat will pierce the silence of winter and the joy of the crowd will draw me in. I will apply the last coat of wax to my skis before storing them away, undoubtedly with a Giant’s game on in the background. I will find renewed and familiar pleasure in the drama of another season, but come September I will begin to look to the hills. Winter can never come soon enough. Play ball!