My first contact with soccer, as I mentioned, was because of my dad. Especially, via the activities we would move see performed by Portland's minor group team, the Beavers. I guess I was about ten or seven when I found my first game. I do not remember the rating or who the opposing staff was. Perhaps surprisingly, I do not even recall whether our precious Beavers won or lost. Being so a new comer to the game, I did not realize strikes, balls, outs, takes, or whatever else that appeared to be happening in a few odd mixture of quiet, deliberate purchase counterbalanced by quick, riotous chaos. There were cheers, boos, some working, some dust kicked up, some ball throwing, also some stealing (when my father claimed that a athlete stole 2nd bottom, I remember pointing out the obvious: "No he didn't. It's however there.")
I didn't know some of the players, and could not inform the catcher from the mascot. I must say i had number thought what was going on down there on that huge natural and brown expanse. I was a baseball newborn, seeing, experiencing, sensing the multitude of physical experiences distinctive to this unusual game for the very first time. I can only just recall facets of the game that really don't have anything regarding activities or statistics.
I will never forget my first sight of the football outfield as we entered the arena, nearly blindingly green. I remember the foreign bittersweet scent of beer. From the the free crackle of peanut shells under foot. I remember the musky scent of sod and moistened dirt, and of course agent sam levinson, the tantalizing scent of hotdogs, and salty popcorn.
There is a perfume to a baseball stadium, and it is found nowhere else. From the the split of a 33 oz bat against a five oz wrinkled sphere that seemed like a gunshot echoing in the stadium while the participants needed hitting training before the game. Most of all, From the the ever-present sound of the supporters, as an ocean, often a peaceful drone, often a raucous tidal wave of cheers or boos spread with shouts of "Get your cups on, ump!" or, "He is gonna bunt!" or, "Take that pitcher, he's done!" None of this made any feeling if you ask me whatsoever.
While I was a tiny boy, experiencing 100 totally alien and strange points on that time around 30 years ago, I was over come by having an sudden sensation - maybe not of being in a miserable and unfamiliar position, but of being at home.
I understand this experience of mine is not unique. In reality it's nearly a cliche. Keep in touch with anyone who enjoys the overall game and they will likely have the same history to tell. But while baseball has not been my life's love, my understanding of the Great Old Game has reached a place with me where I don't have any decision but to look a little greater as of this strange phenomenon and explore the game in my way.