2. I got Redbird Fever and the Cardinals are the cure.-- Gretchen Wilson
The book that planted the baseball seed in my soul (or, perhaps that seed was already there and the book only served as fertilizer) was The Speed of Light by Ron Carlson. Recently, I've checked the book out from the library because I hoped to figure out why it made me such a fanatic. The best I can work out is that the baseball that was wrapped around nearly every line of the novel wound up wrapping around me, too. I still don't understand what possessed me to wander in my parent's bedroom that July afternoon in 2003, but I did. I walked in, sat down, and watched the game with my father.
As I sat there, I realized that baseball was more than "three strikes yer out." No, it was much more interesting than that. It was confusing, too, for a girl who had made it her life's goal to avoid any baseball at all.
"Dad, what's an RBI?" I questioned.
To his credit, my dad didn't laugh at such an inane question. "An RBI means runs batted in--"
"Oh!" I interrupted with a laugh. Duh, Katie, I thought.
"So, when a batter gets a hit, and a guy scores, the batter picks up an RBI." He was smiling. His voice had that pleasant lilt it gets when he's answering a question for someone who genuinely wants to know the answer.
And that was my introduction to baseball statistics. I don't think any other sport works with so many numbers. In baseball, everything a player does is recorded. You can even find players stats in the newpaper. Just the basic stats, though, like batting average and earned run average. They don't have any of the new-fangled sabermetric stats, which are near impossible for the average fan to decipher. Back then, in the early days of my baseball fever, I only gave these stats a passing glance. Now I follow them closely. I know that hitting .300 is considered to be very good-- which is scary because that means the batter failed to get a hit seven times out of ten. I know that the Mendoza line-- batting .200-- is considered the lowest average a non-pitcher can have and still be in the major leagues. I know that a pitcher with a 3.00 or lower earned run average will win a lot of games.
But, like I said, I didn't really understand all the statistics back in 2003. I didn't understand the Bo Hart fever that was sweeping through Cardinal Nation, but I caught it. Unlike baseball fever, Bo Hart fever faded away.
Little Bo Hart is a red-headed second baseman who was called up to the Show shortly before I began watching. His .460 batting average endeared him to Cardinal Nation. The guy couldn't get out. Plus, he was spunky and played hard. Those facts bewitched me and other Cardinal fans until his average fell below the Mendoza line.
It was Bo's passion for the game that brought me back to my parents' bedroom those summer nights. He darted around second base, dove to snag line drives, and lept over the runners who slid into second with the sole intent to inflict harm and prevent the double play. Of course, all second basemen dart, dive, and leap, but Bo did it harder. It was like he knew that his days as a major leaguer were numbered, so he ran hard even when it was an obvious out, he dove for the balls way out of his reach, and he smiled. Bo Hart taught me the first life lesson I learned from baseball: If your all wasn't enough, you have nothing of which to be ashamed.
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