I’m a 52-year-old grandfather, who just recently discovered blogging. I’m working on two blogs at the moment; this is the one I enjoy more.
Sports have always been a passion for me.
When I was a preteen living near Cincinnati, my mother would occasionally drop my siblings and I off at Coney Island for the day. After she drove away, we’d leave the amusement park and sneak in the River Downs race track through a hole in the fence, and spend the day watching the races. Occasionally we’d see Pete Rose near the finish line, holding his tickets in the air as the thoroughbreds crossed.
As a teen, I was a fixture at Riverfront Stadium during the Big Red Machine era. You could find me obsessively keeping track of every at-bat in the scorecard. When the Reds played late on the west coast, I’d stay up late listening to the games on my portable radio. I kept a tape player on to record those games; if I fell asleep, I could still catch the end the next morning.
When I joined my high school newspaper, and later went to college as a journalism major, I naturally drifted towards sports. I’ve been sportswriter in some form or another for most of the past 35 years. Part of that is because I never had the talent to play competitive sports; like most sportswriters, I’m also a frustrated athlete. Here’s a lifetime of athletic achievement, in one paragraph:
In sixth grade, I came off the bench and broke up a no-hitter in a little league game. I wrestled junior varsity, with a total record of 2-2 (1 pin). In the Air Force, I was part of my company’s bowling team, and rolled a 216 in the championship match to help my team win the title.
That’s pretty much it.
So I never stood a chance of playing centerfield for the Reds, but writing about them is a decent backup plan.