The Home Team

The Red Sox have won the first game in the 2007 World Series. (Insert hoopla here.) I'm happy for them and their fans. But... how can you cheer for a team that the average person, read me here, can't afford to watch? Oh, we can turn on the all American great electronic babysitter and become mesmerized by the pixels flashing on and off across the screen. But I can't afford tickets for our family to see a game, up close and personal to the Green Monster.

For me, baseball is a way to breathe. Strange hearing that from someone who won't watch it on TV. I love going to the games. I love being this close to home plate. I love a great steal, an Our Father glove tip catch for a final out. I love the eruption of a cheer. How it starts in your toes and roars out your throat like a dragon. But I have to be there to enjoy it. The action is real at the park. I'm too far away on my sofa. I can't drill my eyes into the pitcher, or offer insightful direction from the comfy chair. It's almost like being cheated. For some, the wonderful smell of coffee to find out it's decaf...

Baseball has to be accessible. The average Josephine has to be able to take a carload of wild, but well behaved girls to the park, sit this close to the batter -- without going bankrupt. Honestly, I can't do that at Fenway.

SO: Go Red Sox. Win, win, win, win...

But for me, I'll hold off my baseball cheers until the Worcester Tornadoes start up again in May. We'll be there, this close to the on deck circle. Having baseball fun, as it's suppose to be.