Baseball – KMZ Digest

Jim Abbott

itsme — Mon, 31 Oct 2022 19:49:50 +0000

NEW YORK, NY – SEPTEMBER 4: New York Yankees pitcher Jim Abbott celebrates after the last out of New York’s first no-hitter in 10 years 04 September 1993. Abbott, who was born without a right hand, walked five and struck out three as the Yankees defeated the Cleveland Indians 4-0. (Photo credit should read MARK D. PHILLIPS/AFP via Getty Images)

Amanda J Hales

April 25, 2016

_{^{Jim Abbott pitching during a 1998 Calgary Cannons minor league baseball game. Released upon request by John Traub, General Manager of the} ^{Albuquerque Isotopes Baseball Club (the successor to the Calgary Cannons), June 21, 2008. ;}
^{John Traub / Albuquerque Isotopes Baseball Club – John Traub / Albuquerque Isotopes}}

Baseball is a game that requires its athletes to run and to bat, catch and pitch a ball. We know the game as America’s Pastime and it’s about as summery as you can get. Young boys and girls play as youngsters with the hopes of one day making it to the big leagues, but the big leagues are only for the elite. What happens, then, if you have a disability? Well, if you are Jim Abbott it’s no big deal.

Jim Abbott was born in Flint Michigan and attended the University of Michigan. He excelled at both baseball and football, albeit without the use of a right hand, as he was born without one. Now for some, that disability would prove too much to overcome and they certainly wouldn’t think they can do a sport and do it well, but Jim Abbott isn’t your regular disabled person, first he doesn’t think of himself as disabled, instead he is differently abled and as a pitcher, he found a way to pitch and then get ready to catch all in the blink of an eye.

If you ever saw Abbott pitch you would have noticed how fast he went from a pitcher to an infielder, never skipping a beat. He’d hold his glove between his arm and body and then when needed slip it on ready for the catch, should there be one. Abbott played for the California Angels, the New York Yankees, the Chicago White Sox and the Milwaukee Brewers in his 10 year Major League Baseball career. He didn’t have to bat when he was in the American League as they have the designated hitter, but when he played for the National League team he had to also have his turn at bat. One armed batting can’t be easy, but he gave it a concerted effort nonetheless.

Jim Abbott won many awards, most notably the James E Sullivan award as the Nation’s Best Amateur Athlete in 1987 and the Golden Spikes Award, also in 1987. In 1988 he won a gold medal at the Olympic games when baseball was not yet an official Olympic sport. He also pitched a no-hitter, something most pitchers only dream about, in 1993.

Jim Abbott may have been born without a hand, but he didn’t stop him from doing what he loved to do and doing it well. He just found a different way of doing things and played it to his advantage.

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The World Series of the Apocalypse?

KMZ — Thu, 25 Aug 2022 19:18:10 +0000

October 27, 2016

By Chris Lamb

In it, Al Tiller, the manager of the Chicago Cubs, is haunted by a prophetic dream that the world will end if the Cubs defeat the Los Angeles Dodgers to win the National League pennant. This puts Tiller in a bind: He must choose between momentary glory or the end of the world.

Those familiar with the short story may have braced themselves on Oct. 22, when the Cubs vanquished the Los Angeles Dodgers to win their first pennant since 1945.

The world didn’t end. Not yet anyway.

But if the Cubs defeat the Cleveland Indians to win their first World Series since 1908, it will end the longest period of futility in American sports – and forever put to rest the Curse of the Billy Goat.

Something else, however, could be lost. Failure, melancholy and heartache – not joy and triumph – inspire drama and comedy, and no team in sports has inspired better literature than the hapless Cubs. Over the course of their long, storied history of losing, their failures have played out on the page.

The best that never was

Ring Lardner was one of the greatest sportswriters of the early 20th century. He also wrote short stories that captured the distinctive voice of baseball players, and he inspired F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, J.D. Salinger and Virginia Woolf. In “Alibi Ike,” Lardner’s protagonist is a Cubs player, Francis X. Farrell, who has an excuse for every error and every blunder.

In Bernard Malamud’s 1952 novel “The Natural,” 19-year-old baseball player Roy Hobbs vows that he will be the “best that ever was.” On his way to a tryout with the Cubs he meets the beautiful Harriet Bird. She invites him to her hotel room and then shoots him, leaving him critically injured, his dreams of greatness dashed.

The novel is based on the true story of Philadelphia Phillies first baseman Eddie Waitkus. In 1949, Waitkus, who once played for the Cubs, returned to Chicago for a game. An obsessed fan, Ruth Ann Steinhagan, invited Waitkus to her hotel room. Once Waitkus entered, she shot him in the stomach, nearly killing him.

A team of goats

For Cubs fans, legendary futility is the recurring punchline.

Chicago newspaper columnist Mike Royko has been dubbed the “poet laureate of Wrigley Field.” He helped perpetuate the story of the “Curse of the Billy Goat,” a spell cast on the team by the owner of the Billy Goat Tavern after being kicked out of Wrigley Field, along with his actual pet goat, during the 1945 World Series. (Fans had complained about the animal’s stench.)

Royko regularly pointed out in his columns that the Cubs failed to win not because a goat wasn’t allowed in Wrigley Field but because goats were allowed to play for the Cubs.

“The Cubs Reader” is a 1991 collection of essays that includes contributions from writers like Roger Angell, Roy Blount Jr., George Will and Ira Berkow. In Will’s essay, he admits that his gloomy conservative politics come from his decision to be a Cubs fans at age seven in 1948. “I plighted my troth to a baseball team destined to dash the cup of life’s joy from my lips,” he wrote.

In fact, the first joke I ever heard came from my father, a lifelong Cubs fan who is now 92:

“Will the mother who left her nine kids at Wrigley Field please come and get them,” the stadium’s public address announcer says one afternoon. “They’re beating the Cubs 7-2.”

Armageddon averted?

“The Last Pennant Before Armageddon” was included in a collection of W.P. Kinsella’s essays called “The Thrill of the Grass.” In the story, the backdrop for the Cubs’ season is the threat of nuclear war between the United States and the Soviet Union. In one of the manager’s dreams, God says, “I think you should know that when the Cubs next win the National League Championship, it will be the last pennant before Armageddon.”

Tiller finds himself in the decisive game with a fatigued starter. He can leave in his starter, which could cost his team the game but save the world, or he can bring in his closer and probably win the game – and destroy civilization.

“The Thrill of the Grass” was published in 1984 – the year the Cubs were one win away from winning the National League pennant. They ended up losing three straight to the San Diego Padres.

Armageddon averted

Almost 20 years later, before the 2003 National League Championship Series between the Cubs and the Florida Marlins, Kinsella was asked if he thought the world would end if the Cubs won the pennant.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said.

The Cubs were five outs away from winning the pennant in 2003 when things fell spectacularly apart – not because of spectator Steve Bartman reaching for a foul ball, as too many Cubs fans want to believe – but because of poor fielding, poor pitching and poor managing.

If the Cubs do win the World Series, Kinsella won’t see it. He died on Sept. 16, a day after the Cubs clinched the National League’s Central Division.

*********************

The Cubs won in 7 games.-KMZ

This Cathedral for Boys, This Cathedral of Dreams

kim zolotar — Thu, 16 Aug 2018 04:31:37 +0000

in the summertime,
within the ivy-covered walls,
upon the sun-drenched grass, the green, green grass
where full grown boys lived out my dreams,
in nine inning shares of timelessness,
to hear the thunder of Ted Williams’ bat,
to watch the smooth, smooth stride of Willie Mays,
to sit in awe of lads once like me,
but who grew up somewhere to become so much more,
these mythic figures of a mythic game,
a game once began on sandy backlots,
now continued on fields in majestic ballparks,
they are all grown up these once little boys,
grown-up beyond the reach of mortals who wear tailored grey suits as they go to work,
they live in realms of near perfection,
they walk in air beyond our own,
they are the best of the best there are
and maybe even,
oh, time will tell
the best of all who will ever be.
oh, how i love this holy place,
the sounds,
the crrraack of the ball sending the left fielder to the wall,
the pop of a Koufax fastball for a call, Strike Three!
the vendor pitching, ”Hot Dogs, Git your red hot, Hot Dogs!”
the rising roar of a crowd when the game’s on the line,
the out-of-tune singing when its seventh inning time.
oh, how i have loved this old, holy place,
this cathedral for boys, this cathedral of dreams,
this place most outstanding
of all places to be.

By Jim McWhinnie

It Was Lights Out At The Old Ballgame

kim zolotar — Thu, 02 Aug 2018 18:34:05 +0000

by James L. Snyder

June 24, 2006

Someone yelling, “Let’s play ball,” officially announces spring. Springtime and baseball seem to go together, as if God created springtime just for the national pastime. Something about that first baseball game seems to shake away all the gloomy aspects of the past winter.

As soon as Old Man Winter strikes out for the last time, good old springtime steps up to the plate and a new game is afoot. Of course, baseball is for the young. One downside of growing older is the fact that you grow out of certain things. For example, as you grow older you grow out of wearing short pants. You can tell an old man is trying to act young when he puts away long pants and dons short pants. Somebody needs to tell these men that knobby knees are not in fashion this year and the less seen the better, I assure you.

As you grow older, you also grow out of a lot of free time. There is nothing like trying to make a living to put a crimp in your lifestyle. Once a man puts on his hat, grabs a lunchbox and walks out the door, he is in for a lifetime of work. Free time as he once knew it now has a price tag. One final thought about growing older — as you grow older you also grow out of extra cash jingling in your pocket. No matter how much a person makes, there seems to be more outgo than income in the average home today. I remember getting a raise once and when the first paycheck came, my take-home was less than before the raise. My raise put me in a higher tax bracket and hence a lower income each payday.

Only one thing I know that can put a temporary pause in all this nonsense — simply an afternoon at the ballpark. Nothing like a good old ballgame to take away all the anxiety of trying to make a living. When I was younger, I was out in the field, playing ball. But I have outgrown that part of my life and find myself sitting in the stands, cheering on my favorite team.

One of the benefits of becoming a grandfather is attending your grandchildren’s ballgames. Now that my knees creak and my pitching elbow don’t work like it used to, I’m way out of shape to play even one inning of a ballgame. Baseball demands younger knees and elbows that are more pliable. Fortunately for grandfathers, God has bestowed upon them grandchildren who play baseball. Several weeks ago, it was my privilege to watch my granddaughter play her first softball game. With a good hot cup of coffee and a seat where I could survey the whole process, I settled down to watch a relaxed softball game. Then, the game took on a new status.

My granddaughter came up to bat and I was on the edge of my seat. At that point, the whole game changed for me. Sitting next to me, a man began yelling at the pitcher. “Go ahead, pitcher,” he screamed, “burn one across the plate, the batter’s a bum, she can’t hit nothing.” I had been away so long from a good ballgame I completely forgot about this element of the game. I demurely turned to the gentleman next to me and opined, “You shouldn’t yell at the kiddies that way. They’re just having fun.” Without even looking at me, he shot, “Mind your own business, Buster.” I’m not easily roused, but this man, what should I say, irritated me. Yes, that’s the word, “irritated.” Then, still not looking at me, he snipped, “The pitcher’s my daughter.” With all the dignity I could muster under the circumstances I retorted with, “But the batter is my granddaughter. And granddaughters out- rank daughters every time.”

I noticed the information stunned him a little. Old Bubba was trying to process this and I could see he was having a little bit of trouble. I didn’t mind because for a moment he couldn’t think of anything to say, which is good no matter which side you’re cheering for. At this point, the situation turned ugly. And when I say ugly, I mean Mrs. Bubba inserted herself into the tête-à-tête. Let me say, I was not afraid of good old Bubba; it was Mrs. Bubba who put the fear of God into me at the time. This only illustrates the vast difference between men and women. Men can have a loud, obnoxious, chest puffing argument and then when it’s all over, go and buy each other a cup of coffee and slap each other on the back celebrating the winning team.

Women are not like that; at least Mrs. Bubba was not like that. As best I recollect the situation, Mrs. Bubba, who was sitting on the other side of Bubba, leaned forward and simply said, “Oh yeah?” It was not what she said, or even how she said it that bothered me. The last thing I remember was her left hook interfacing with my left eye.

Driving home, I mused on what the Apostle Paul wrote. “I charge thee before God, and the Lord Jesus Christ, and the elect angels, that thou observe these things without preferring one before another, doing nothing by partiality. Lay hands suddenly on no man, neither be partaker of other men’s sins: keep thyself pure.” (1 Timothy 5:21-22 KJV.)

Sometimes, one strike and you’re out.

About the author

James L. Snyder is an award winning author and popular columnist living with his wife, Martha, in Ocala, Florida and can be contacted at jamessnyder2@att.net.

Jason O’Connor: Watching NFL v MLB

kim zolotar — Thu, 19 Jul 2018 19:34:43 +0000

Watching the NFL versus MLB

Imagine placing two flat screen plasma TV’s side by side in your living room smack dab in front of your couch. You’ve got beer, snacks a-plenty and fresh batteries in your clicker.

One TV has an NFL game on and the other has a Major League Baseball game and they both start at the same time.

Besides this being many sports fans’ idea of hog heaven and even better than clicking back and forth between games with only one TV, it’s fun to watch the differences between these two pro sports. Watching the NFL on TV is a weekly ritual; baseball is on every night of the week, but watching the two combined is almost as rewarding as joining a Cowboy cheerleader snuggle-fest.

And that’s exactly what I did recently (not the snuggle-fest, but the two TV’s thing). Here’s what happened:

The football game started with a massive kick to the opposing team, and a line of 250-pound plus men with murder in their eyes started charging after the poor slob who caught the ball. After a few seconds he was crushed by his pursuers, becoming the bottom man in a very scary adult male pig-pile. MLB players tend to be a little mellower and less physical, but all pro players in any sport need to be strong.

Football players take steroids, baseball players get caught.

Meanwhile, the MLB game started off a little less exciting. My heart rate and pulse began to slow down as I watched the catcher and pitcher play catch as the batter just stood there spitting and adjusting his crotch. I got quickly bored and turned back to the NFL game.

In a matter of a three minute span two men had been injured, with one having his ankle relocated to his armpit. A touchdown was scored, the ball changed hands twice, and a whole lot of tackling, smashing, crunching and finger-breaking happened.

Football is more of an immediate gratification, ADD-friendly game to watch.

I glanced back at the MLB game for a couple of minutes. Two strikeouts and four fly outs came and went and we were already in the second inning, with little action to show for it. A baseball game is more of a wise-old-man kind of sport, where patience and number-crunching are paramount. It reveres serenity.

Football reveres mayhem. Watching football gets me angry and all charged up. Watching baseball makes me sleepy. In fact, I usually like to watch the first two or three innings, fall asleep, and then wake up to catch the last few innings. Watching football players hit each other full force and light each other up is exciting, and dozing is out of the question. Watching one grown man with ball in glove chase another grown man to tag him in a pickle is kind of funny.

As 10,000 commercials played on the football TV, I had a few minutes to catch up on my MLB game. Finally, in the bottom of the third, a man hit the ball and dropped it in the right field gap for a single. All the baseball players, including the guy running up to first base, seemed quite pleasant. Why not be? They were playing in a nice park, on a nice warm and sunny day and no one had even broken a sweat yet. The batter reached first base and started chatting with the opposing team’s first baseman. They started smiling and having a great time with each other. My lip-reading skills are not what they used to be but I think I saw one say to the other, “Hi Johnny! How’s the wife doing? It’s been a while since we saw her. We’ve got to get together sometime soon.”

Growing restless, I turned back to the NFL game just in time to see one man standing over a writhing and groaning man on the turf. I think I saw his lips yelling, “Hey Bruno, while we were having breakfast together this morning, your wife told me to tackle you into next Tuesday, did I do a good job?”

In the very next play a running back was nailed in a bone-splitting tackle. Indeed, his bone did split, and then protruded right out of his bloody skin causing a wave of nausea to spread over the crowd.

Fascinated but horrified, I quickly turned to the baseball game and witnessed a wild pitch hit the batter on the finger. The batter yelped and had to sit the rest of the game out, his pinky was smarting.

To replace the bone-sticking-out-of-his-leg guy in the NFL game, a bulky player with flowing dreadlocks sticking out of his helmet started lumbering onto the field. He had a huge cast on his arm that looked like a big club. With the hand totally encased, forming a big bulbous weapon, he shook it as his opponents in defiance while possibly struggling to stick one particular finger up, and then reluctantly joined the huddle.

It was nearing the halftime and so many timeouts had been called that they seemed to have run out of commercials to play. So the cameras started scanning the crowd. It was a lot colder where this game was being held, and I could see people’s breath. I also saw a guy in shorts and no shirt who had painted his skin from head to toe in his NFL team’s colors. His head was shaved and also painted, and he was wearing a big pig’s nose on his face.

As I briefly scanned the crowd on the other TV, I saw lots of people in button down, short sleeve shirts, baseball caps and gloves on, waiting expectantly for that ever-elusive foul ball.

The first half started to wind down in the NFL game, and I actively awaited gratuitous shots of hot cheerleaders. I was rewarded with lots of silly pompom waving and cleavage. I then happily turned back to the MLB game but only saw three heavy-set women shoving sausage dogs and peanuts in their mouths.

At halftime I got a chance to go to the bathroom and grab another cold beer and more snacks. There is never a big break in baseball, and every time I go to the bathroom while watching baseball I always miss the big play, which of course happened this time too.

My MLB game continued to plod along when I got back, inducing the unique ball-strike-out hypnotic state that only baseball can cause. I was about to doze off when I was jarred out of my trance by the flashy touchdown dance I saw on my other TV. The guy who just scored was moonwalking across the uprights while flapping his arms like wings. He then proceeded to do a magnificent swan dive which turned into a double somersault with a twist and finally landed perfectly on the field.

I then quickly caught the replay of the big baseball play I had just missed. Someone hit a grand slam, rounded the bases and was greeted by a big, warm, bouncing-in-unison group hug.

After a while, both games ended and I had experienced a full range of emotions. Both games are great to watch and if you can get past the roller coaster ride of stimulation, watching football and baseball simultaneously is a blast. I decided to keep both plasma TV’s in front of the couch permanently

Finally, no football vs. baseball article could be complete without mentioning one of the masters of comedy and this subject, George Carlin.

Here’s a quote from Carlin’s famous monologue that inspired this article:

“And finally, the objectives of the two games are completely different: In football the object is for the quarterback, also known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy’s defensive line. In baseball the object is to go home! And to be safe! – I hope I’ll be safe at home!”

Author Jason O’ Connor operates and loves to attend NFL and MLB games.

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The Home Team by David Collins

kim zolotar — Fri, 13 Jul 2018 19:27:39 +0000

Most of us are born to our allegiances. Especially for the home team. Our fathers taking us to our first baseball game, the perfectly manicured green grass and white on white of the baselines so precisely laid out before us as giants warmed up under the brilliant summer sun. From then to eternity that team was mine. It binds us to a town a city, an era, it becomes who we are, it defines us in ways beyond rational explanation. We wear our loyalty in game jerseys with our hero’s name emblazoned on the back, we paint our faces our team’s colors, we name our children after our favorite players. We’re crazy, crazy for our team.

Win or lose, celebrate or mourn we love our team. Monday ain’t blue if your team won on Sunday. But we soon get over it if they don’t, because there is always next week, next year or if you are a Cub fan, the next millennia. The best part of sport is that there always is next year, a do over of sorts. One that life doesn’t provide us with, but does for our team. That’s what keeps us coming back for more. One more chance at redemption . One more chance to be the best. To be champions. Everyone loves a winner, but the true fan, one born of the loyalty of personal connection, loves his team no matter what. There is no band wagon to jump on or off of. They are your team through thick and thin, win or lose.

I come from a time and place were loyalty was everything. At work and at play. The team was everything. Whether it was your sandlot buddies or the guys on the line at the assembly plant or steel mill, it was your world, it was who you were, it was your identity. I have lived, worked and played all over the world and there is one constant that bonds males and it is sport. I have played sandlot football in the shadow of hulking rusted steel mills belching smoke and ash that coated the snow black. Stood shoulder to shoulder with players from the other team as we walked the length of the field picking and chucking rocks that clanged off the empty aluminum bleachers. Then stood toe to toe and knocked the crap outta each other for hours or until it got too dark to play or we ran out of players. I have played baseball on fields glistening with broken glass and basketball on courts littered with hypodermic needles in the slums of Philadelphia and New York and San Juan. I’ve kicked around soccer balls in the hot sands of the Middle East with guys that played in the World Cup from Holland. I sat, in a freezing car, with four friends in Minneapolis listening to the U.S.A. beat Russia in the ’80 Olympics, on the radio because we forgot to pay the electric bill. I’ve stood in race control at the 2000 Daytona 500 flashing hand signals to the broadcast crews who couldn’t understand why the race director had yellow flagged the race toward the end of the race as 200,000 fans screamed in anger or joy as their favorite got robbed or caught a break.

I’ve watched Superbowls, World Series games and World Cup matches in bars from Bangkok to Bangor. I have partied with the great and not so great, the famous and the infamous. I have been fortunate to have traveled the world and it is the passion of sport that has broken down language and cultural barriers along the way. If there is one thing men are more passionate about than religion or politics or women for that matter, it is sport, especially the home team. Life long friendships born of the love of sport are formed out of those passions.

Give me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, because I’m going to root root root for the home team.

By: David Collins
Read more information at www.sportsoutlaw.com

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Top 10 reasons why I love baseball

kim zolotar — Fri, 13 Jul 2018 19:19:38 +0000

by Aron Wallad

1. The Ultimate Challenge

Hitting a round ball with a round bat. The feeling I would get when I hit the ball. Just think of a baby that is crying for food. When that baby gets her bottle the first thing you hear is that ahhhhh sound. Oh that ah. When I hit a ball perfectly I would have that ahhhhh.

2. I call it contentment at a high level.

I played all the time when I was a kid. Some of my favorite memories were from the diamond. When I hit two home runs in one game off the star pitcher form our High School team. I rounded the bases in full view of our High School coach. I was glowing. When I hit a game ending home run off Jay Klein. He thought I could only hit singles. Rounding the bases of redemption was a another special moment for me. When I broke up two no hitters from the star, city league pitcher. I felt like I had made the grade, and that was awesome.

3. Easy watching

I can sit in my favorite chair and root for Derek Jeter to hit one up the gap. Holding my breath with every pitch delivered to him. Or, I can sit and read the paper and view the events of the game through the corner of my eye. Either way is ok with me.

4. I am amazed by what Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig accomplished in their careers.

I look at old film footage, or read about either The Babe or Larripin Lou and always feel awed by the big numbers they both put on the board. From home runs to RBIs to batting average to runs scored, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig achieved over and over again.

5. Double my pleasure.

I could play baseball and get a tan at the same time.

6. My sons played and my daughter still plays.

I have had the pleasure of sharing joyous moments with my children. Times that I will not forget. Like when my daughter got the game winning hit against Fair Lawn High School last year. We won 1-0. I was jumping up and down. I was so excited. I was so happy she delivered.

7. I love all of the statistics.

Did you ever see so many stats? Runs, RBIs, hits, doubles, triples, home runs, stolen bases etc….. Comparing eras, or comparing players. Duos like Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig – how do they stack up against other twosomes. Who had the highest batting average in a three or four or five year stint? So many statistics to choose form. It is endless.

8. A place to excel

I loved taking a hit away from the batter. I felt great stealing a base. Why is it that stealing is bad except in baseball? My satisfaction was heightened by a solid hit. This was the best. Ahhhh. I especially felt great rounding the bases after hitting a homer. I think I know how Babe Ruth felt when he whacked one.

9. The Yankees.

Of all the teams I root for in all the professional sports I watch, the Yankees are the only team that wins on a fairly regular basis. All my other teams usually lose. It feels good when my team wins.

10. The stories.

Like the story Mickey Mantle tells of the time when he first joined the Yankees. He was not hitting well. His confidence was dwindling. After days of desperation he called his father when he was playing near Oklahoma. Mickey Mantle was hoping his father would give him a pep talk. But when Muck Mantle got to the hotel room where Mickey and the New York Yankees were staying. Muck did not give his son a pep talk. He did the opposite. Mickey’s father told Mickey that he was there to pick up his son and bring him home. Mickey’s father said that he did not know he raised a quitter. Mickey Mantle got the message. He started to hit after his father left. He attributes that meeting with his father as a turning point in his career. I have heard Mickey Mantle tell that story a few times on tape or live. Whenever I hear him tell it I am moved by Mickey’s love for his father.

11. It is just the greatest game.

Author Bio

Aron Wallad has been a baseball lover for over 45 years. You will love his honesty and his passion.. You will be touched by the heartwarming stories. The unusual statistics will amaze you and the quotes will make you laugh…Sometimes.

Go here right now to join his ezine
www.baseballsprideandjoy.com

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Baseball and How It Relates to Life

kim zolotar — Wed, 27 Jun 2018 20:02:20 +0000

By Colby M Brown

Baseball has been my favorite sport ever since I can remember. The crack of the bat, the sound of the ball hitting the glove, all bring me joy. Baseball also has a lot of lessons that can relate to life. A strong work ethic, learning from failure, and having fun, are three valuable lessons I have learned from baseball that I apply to my everyday life. Lessons that I will never forget and try to improve on daily.

Having a strong work ethic is vital in baseball. How do you expect to be good at it if you don’t work hard at it? The key to practicing baseball is repetition. So much of it is muscle memory and being able to repeat the same motions over and over again. That is why the best of them take ground ball after ground ball and swing until their hands bleed in the cage. The drive and determination is what sets them apart from other players in the league. You can take this drive and determination and apply it to your everyday life as well. Getting up in the morning and starting your day off right by eating a healthy breakfast is a great start. Lying around in bed until the very last second to get up is a lazy and ineffective habit. Get up and go work hard at your job, your school, or whatever it may be and become the best at it to set yourself apart from other people.

There’s no place like home.

Failing is something you are going to do a lot of in baseball and in life. In baseball, you can get out seven out of ten times and still be classified as a great hitter. That is amazing to me. 70% of the time you can fail and still be a good player. The best ones are able to learn from their failure and get better from it. It is inevitable in this game to fail. You are just not going to get around it. But if you are able to learn from your mistakes and make sure they happen as least as possible, then you are able to get better and succeed more. The same can be said for life. Nobody goes through life undefeated. You are going to have your ups and downs. As long as you can learn from your downs to ensure that you have more ups then you will be all right.

Start young!

Learning to have fun is the most important thing you can learn from baseball. The game is so strategic and intense, you sometimes forget why you are playing. There are so many little joys of the game that are often taken for granted. Conversing with teammates, enjoying the atmosphere, and just playing the actual game in general are some of the many pleasurable parts of the game. At some point, you will not be able to play the game you love so very much ever again. That is why you have to enjoy the little things about the game every chance you get. Life is no different. Your time is going to come and you never know when it is going to be. For this reason, go out and enjoy the small things in life. Whether it be hanging out with friends and family, watching your favorite movie, or whatever it may be. Go out and do it because life is too short to not enjoy it.

Work ethic, learning from failure, and having fun are all habits you can apply to the baseball field as well as life. Working hard to become the best version of yourself is a daily grind. Learning from failure and past mistakes can help you grow stronger than ever before. Having fun and keeping a smile on your face helps going through struggles and the pleasures that much more enjoyable. Baseball is a great sport and can teach you some valuable lessons in the game of life.

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Colby_M_Brown/2483955

Effort Is the Secret to Success

kim zolotar — Mon, 04 Jun 2018 19:55:50 +0000

By Daniel Blanchard

The Strenuous Life is the name of a speech given by Theodore Roosevelt in Chicago, Illinois on April 10, 1899. Based upon personal experiences, he argued that the strenuous effort and overcoming hardship were ideals to be embraced by Americans for the betterment of the nation and the world in the 20th century.

Well, here we are now just beginning the 21st century and I think Teddy Roosevelt’s preaching about effort, both on the personal level and a national level are as valuable today as they were over a century ago. The more things change, the more they stay the same, right?

It’s just a fact. Things don’t get done on their own. Someone has to make the effort, and that someone should be you and me. You see, through effort so much more is possible for us than most people can even begin to imagine.

With consistent effort, we start meeting people who we would never have met before, and they share possibilities with us that we didn’t even know was possible before our extra efforts. Heck, who are we kidding, some of these things that we learn on our journey, made possible through effort, we didn’t even know existed before we made the effort and met others who were also making the effort.

In short, in life, as in a football game, the principle to follow is:

Hit the line hard; don’t foul and don’t shirk, but hit the line hard!

–Theodore Roosevelt

Anything is possible with sustained effort. We can succeed. But, success won’t come to us, we have to go to success. Knowledge won’t come to us, we have to go to knowledge. Happiness won’t come to us, we have to go to happiness. It’s so obvious, that it’s also easy to miss. We have to make a consistent effort. And we have to make a grand effort. Period! The good thing here is that we can all do it! But, unfortunately, most won’t do it. Are you one of the few who will do it?

Now teens, go learn, lead, and lay the way to a better world for all of us. Always remember how important effort is. And once again, thanks in advance for all that you do, and all that you will do…

Award-winning author, speaker, and educator Dan Blanchard wants you to look differently at the strenuous life as a good thing now. For more great tips from Dan be sure to check out his website: http://www.DanBlanchard.net

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Daniel_Blanchard/1785050

://www.DanBlanchard.net