Ok, ok... so you might not love this one. It is America's pasttime, but by the time you are old enough to attend one, your attention may be committed to a thousand other interests. Or you might be too high-strung to sit through 9 innings of a no-hitter. But if you can find the time and patience on a June afternoon for three hours in a blue plastic seat, enjoy the game in its entirety.
Watch the expression of the first baseman as he hustles to tag out a runner, and observe the shadows stretching across the outfield as extra innings push an afternoon game into twilight. Buy a hot dog, soft pretzel, frozen lemonade, a bag of peanuts, cracker jack, or whatever new and glorious ballpark food concoction has been invented by then. Learn to keep a scorecard the old-school way and impress the old men in the bleacher seats around you -- then toss the same scorecard to the wayside when the under-appreciated catcher hits a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth. Wear a baseball cap (pink is ok) and design your own "catchy phrase" t-shirt (see Mom's old "Marry Me Corey" classic T for inspiration). Cheer the wins, ignore the losses, and above all -- find a team that you love, and stick by them despite the odds.
Being a baseball fan is a trial in loyalty, lesson in emotional investment and a lot of fun. This is coming from someone who has considered naming her first daughter Wrigley, Ivy, Addison and Ernie Banks (ok, I think I was a little loopy from folding onesies on that last one).
Long live America's pasttime, and may you have a life-long relationship with it.
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