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The Story
A boy with a bat. Thirty six years later.
I was 10 years old when I discovered baseball. To say it was my first love would be an understatement. Money was tight in a single-parent home, and every game felt like a small miracle, but somehow I made it through two seasons of Little League.
By the time I reached my teens, I fell in with the wrong crowd. Baseball got left behind. By my mid-20s I was married and raising a family until divorce reared its ugly head. Suddenly, the baseball gods opened their doors to me one more time.
Father Time is undefeated.
At 26, after training with a former MLB washout, I walked into a Semi-Pro league tryout at Fort Lauderdale Stadium with 200 other guys competing for spots in a four-team division. Somehow I made the team. But before my first game I tore my rotator cuff. My baseball dream was officially over.
Over the years the itch always returned, but life kept getting in the way. A career, raising a teenage daughter on my own, the years just kept passing. Now I'm 46, and I want to experience hitting a home run in an MLB park just one time before it's too late. This is the start of my journey.