My buddy Pete has blogged about his love of baseball, and plans to travel to see games the the Hall of Fame this year. I think it’s a great idea for a vacation, for someone who loves the game. Especially for someone who has such fond memories of baseball from childhood. Sometimes I wish it were like that for me. Sometimes, I tune around past the ESPN channels and see baseball going on, and I wish I enjoyed it like Pete does.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the grace, timing and teamwork of the sport. I watch movies about the myth, such as Field of Dreams, and think baseball’s pretty cool. But I just can’t get into it.

For one thing, I don’t have memories like Pete’s, of going to ballparks. We don’t really have any around here. And my Dad and Grandpas were always TV sports guys. And more football than baseball. My Mom’s Dad, “Papa Bee,” used to watch baseball with the sound off and do his own running commentary. He knew every player, every stat. Somehow, it didn’t stick to me.

So now I watch football when that’s happening, and if my Dad’s handy to watch it with. That’s really it for me and sports. Don’t like to watch it alone. I have a field of dreams, I guess, in my taciturn heart. If I build it, will you come?