Her interest in baseball, tainted by a short-lived romance, might have faded like so many other passing fancies. But an unforgettable afternoon at a Mud Hens game made Rachel Van Sickle a fan for good.
Witness the crush of people in front of the 10-foot-wide window into Wrigley Field. Where they congregated before 2006, when the knothole in the outfield wall was carved, I do not know. But they are together now.
On spectating and a visit to Citi Field with a trio of 12-year-old boys.
Like so many 14-year-old boys, Couch was contrarian, cocksure and often at odds with his dad. But they could always talk about baseball. A story of City Slickers, Bobby Bragan and fatherhood.
Everyone wants to win, but you can't taste victory without first stepping onto the field. The players aren't alone in donning uniforms, though, and one man finds redemption—and triumph—in the coach's box.
In their 39th season, the Texas Rangers have reached the World Series at last. Mark Holtz never got the chance to narrate his Rangers through a winning playoff round, but somewhere, wherever he is, the man with a rumble of a voice is beaming.
The fly ball looks like a speck in the sky of blue. I drift under it, feet gliding across the grass. The afternoon sun beats on my head. It's the 11th inning, and I hold my glove high.
"The security worker hadn't even moved. I had frozen him in disbelief." Of summer in the Pacific Northwest, sacrilege and a memento of both.
On the night of April 8, 1974, Hank Aaron needed a single home run more to stand alone as baseball's home run king. For Roulston's father, it was to be nirvana. Hank did his part, but bliss still slipped away.
He was sifting through thin slices of Americana at a Baltimore stamp and coin shop when something unexpected appeared. The store owner saw it only for the stamp, but Ottens knew the autographed 1939 envelope had a story to tell.
Only when it's gone do we truly see the greatness of a thing. A story of a father, a childhood and Albert Pujols.
Fifty years ago today, Ottens was a 12-year-old Yankees fan taking in his first game at Wrigley. But four hours and 29 runs later, a Yankee rooter he was no more. In the conclusion to a three-part story, Ottens remembers the game that forever changed his allegiance.
Fifty years ago, Ottens was a 12-year-old Yankees fan living in Chicago. His first trip to Wrigley was an unsettling blur of motion, smell and sound—until, as he walked up the concrete ramp to the field, the dazzling view made it all worthwhile.
Fifty years ago, Ottens was a 12-year-old Yankees fan living in Chicago. And he still might be rooting for the Yanks today, had his grandfather on that fateful morning not asked, "Do you want to see the Cubs play?"
Every card collector has a white whale—a card that proves elusive, a set that defies completion. Stewart is no exception. It took seven years, but he finally found every black-bordered, 1971 Topps card.
It was overwhelming, numbing and evocative of something sacred. A story of an unforgettable birthday and a sight never to be seen again.
Sometimes the sweetest things in life are also the forbidden. And, sometimes, that's what makes them so sweet. Benardello remembers a mother's love and a game he shouldn't have been able to see.
For many in San Francisco, 1989 is still synonymous with fulfillment. After a drought of nearly 30 years, the Giants had won the pennant.
There were no crowds, uniforms or even gloves. And a real baseball? Not a chance. No, in his backyard ballpark, Biggins played ball with only plastic and his pals.
As a girl, Tyler brought a glove to all of her brother's baseball games with hopes of snagging a foul ball or playing catch. But she never imagined she'd use it to collect an autograph from Casey Stengel.
During a six-week summer road trip, one traveler found that not even ticket scalpers could ruin a visit to Wrigley Field.
One has gained mainstream acceptance; the other still lingers in the shadows. Millions of people play fantasy baseball, but its tabletop cousin has an allure of its own.
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