Why I love baseball

A League Of My Own

The last time I fell in love was Monday 13 August 2012, the night before my wedding. You might think that was a bit late. Not my wife; that was years before. On that significant Monday night, I fell head over heels with a sport. Baseball.

 It is an overwhelming, obsessional kind of love that has been with me since that day and will remain with me until the day I die. My family and friends think it’s weird.

 “Isn’t it a bit like rounders?”

Visiting every Major League ballpark has become a ‘must do’ on my bucket list. There are 30 stadiums in 27 cities. So far, I’ve done 10. Not bad in six years. It doesn’t end there, I’ll come to that later.

The New York Yankees are the subject of my obsession. They are the Manchester United of baseball – have the same financial might, are supported by people all over the world and are hated by almost all other baseball fans.  Maybe you’ve heard of Babe Ruth, the most famous baseball player of all time? He wasn’t my reason for choosing the Yankees.  I chose them because of Derek Jeter, a superstar known by pretty much everyone in America, yet unknown in the UK, unless you are fanatical about baseball.

Derek played his entire 20-year career at the Yankees, helping them to five World Series trophies in this time. The ‘World Series’, despite its title is only played for by American teams and is the pinnacle of Major League Baseball – a best-of-seven set of games. He was known as ‘Captain Clutch’ for his ability to come up with a big play when really needed and the fact he was the Yankees captain at the age of twenty-one. As soon as he began playing, other players listened to him. I loved his ‘hustle’ and pride for his city.

One of the main reasons that I love baseball is the ballpark. Yankee Stadium is very dear to my heart, but I love all the places I have visited. Each of them has its own design, dimensions and features that make them unique, like a fingerprint.

For instance, Milwaukee Brewers’ stadium, Miller Park named after the Milwaukee-based Miller Beer, has a winding slide which the mascot races down when a home run is scored, Tampa Bay Rays, as you would expect, have a pool in the outfield with rays swimming in it, or Boston Red Sox have the ‘Green Monster’, an imposing green wall famous for its seats on the top, one of the greatest views in baseball.

Yankee Stadium feels like you have stepped back in time, even though the stadium was opened in 2010. The exterior of the stadium is made of granite and limestone, giving it an ‘older’ feel.  Player legends such as Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Mickey Mantle, Joe Di Maggio, Mariano Rivera and Don Mattingly have their pictures around the outside of the stadium, surrounding streets and plazas are named after players and Monument Park, inside of the ballpark, contains plaques to honour players who have had their numbers retired.

This is much more common in American sports than British ones – a famous player who may have entered the ‘Hall of Fame’ for their sport, for instance, are honoured and the number is no longer used by the team. 

Around the top of the stadium is a white metal frieze, which replicates a feature from the previous ballpark’s design and adds to the older feel.

Another reason for my love is the weather. I associate baseball with balmy summer days, wearing shorts and with a cooling pint of craft beer, with hot dogs, pretzels or ‘Cracker Jacks’, a blend of popcorn and peanuts. Imagine my surprise when attending Opening Day at the Yankees in 2018, when it was a) postponed due to heavy snow, and b) pelting with rain and freezing when the game took place the next day.

Listening to baseball on the radio is one of my greatest pleasures. John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman, the Yankees co-commentators, bring the game to life in my headphones, often when I’m awake in the early hours, as the East coast of the US is five hours behind, so night games are played at midnight or 1am and can last three hours or so. I like to think of them as ‘my friends in the middle of the night.”

It is an old-fashioned sport, so it seems pertinent to me to listen to the game, rather than watch it on television as I can imagine the scene. Over a season, John and Suzyn fill between 550 and 600 hours of coverage, which is an astonishing figure! John Sterling is famous for his made-up calls when a home run is scored, when a player hits the ball beyond the fences, like a ‘six’ in cricket.

“It’s a A-Bomb from A-Rod!” is a classic for Alex Rodriguez, as is “Yes inDidi! Didi Gregorious makes Yankee fans uproarious.”

Baseball is traditional, and the game now is pretty much the same as the one played in the 1900s. Kits, or uniforms as they are known in the US, rarely change, so you can buy a jersey and it will last forever. I particularly love the Yankee pinstripes, the navy stripes on white are a classic combination.

The interlocking NY logo was designed by Tiffany, the famous jewellers, and can be seen on many a baseball cap or t-shirt, across the world. Most people probably don’t even know they are wearing the symbol of the Yankees.

A baseball game lasts nine innings and each inning ends when the opposing team has got three batters out.  The batter versus pitcher battle can be tense and last the whole game. From afar, you can’t understand why the batters don’t hit the ball more often. Up close, you realise the batter has very little idea where the ball is going and it’s out of the pitcher’s mitt and into the catcher’s glove quicker than you can even blink.

Aroldis Chapman, aYankee pitcher, can throw a ball into the strike zone at 102mph. When you see the size of the area they have to throw the ball into to get a strike and the distance from the pitcher’s mound, you appreciate the wizardry that is needed.

All pundits of the game, both amateur and professional, argue about the size of this zone, but the official MLB version says it is seventeen inches wide, begins at the mid-point between a batter’s shoulders and the top of their uniform pants and ends at a point below the kneecap.

A baseball season lasts 162 games, plus the postseason games leading to the World Series. This means you can go to games almost every day, if you so wish. I love being able to pack in five or six games into a trip. Day or night, baseball is always magical to me.

I find it astonishing that on any Wednesday afternoon, 48,000 fans can be sandwiched into a ballpark watching a game. A small part of me is tempted to ask, “Why aren’t you at work?”

The seventh-innings ‘stretch’ is my very favourite moment in the game. Fans stand together and sing a 1908 song, ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game’.  I love the camaraderie of singing along with friends and strangers.  The lyrics go as follows:

‘Take me out to the ball game, Take me out with the crowd;
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don't care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root for the Yankees,
If they don't win, it's a shame.
For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
At the old ball game.’

            My love for baseball became even more fanatical in 2018. I’ve followed younger Yankee players for a couple and watched their rise through the ‘farm system’, also known as the Minor Leagues, starting at ‘Single A ball’, the lowest level, through ‘High A’, ‘Double A’ and ‘Triple A’ and through to the Major League level.

            The Yankees team is now full of young players, who I have watched come through this system and this sparked my interest in knowing more about the clubs involved. I knew the Yankee farm teams – Staten Island Yankees, Tampa Tarpons, Charleston River Dogs, Trenton Thunder and Scranton Wilkes-Barre Railriders, but little about the other teams in the country.

I’d always wanted to complete a road trip and it was the top item on my bucket list, when I made it. When I visited the Deep South, I made it a mission to visit as many Minor League ballparks as I could, after finding many places we were going to had a) a club and b) would be playing at home when we were there.

Minor League baseball is very different to Major League. Clubs are known for their ridiculous names – Toledo Mudhens, New Orleans Baby Cakes, Lehigh Valley Iron Pigs for instance. They play at ballparks in smaller towns and cities.

Food items are also famous, like Midland's Peanut Butter & Jelly & Bacon Hot Dog or Akron's Squealer -- a half-pound foot-long dog stuffed with pulled pork, cheese, wrapped in bacon and deep fried.

Entertainment is a big part of the game and sometimes you can be left wondering whether you have come for the baseball or the activities served up between innings.

Tickets are much cheaper than in Major League, with prices starting around $8 and many places offering an all-you-can-eat deal involving burgers, hot dogs, crisps and soft drinks for $15. This makes Minor League baseball an affordable option for many families.

Most teams are affiliated to a Major League team, but a lot of fans tend to support the minor league one, rather than the bigger club associated with it, though they may also go to watch a nearby MLB team.

First up on my road trip was Macon Bacon, which must be one of the greatest team names in the world, and they played in a collegiate league, where university baseball players who didn’t have a team yet showcased their skills over the summer months. It was their inaugural season and I’d found them one day via Twitter.

 I’d been following their fortunes ever since and they were probably the reason why we chose a trip in the Deep South of America. I know, who else would choose to visit a town in deepest Georgia, based on a baseball team name? Baseball love is a crazy thing.

Helen, my wife, without my knowing, been in touch with the clubs we would be visiting on our travels and the Macon Bacon said I could throw out the ‘ceremonial first pitch’, where a guest throws from the pitcher’s mound to the team’s catcher before the game starts.

I’d been practising in the garden for about a week and placed a baseball mitt at the other end of the garden to the bird bath, which was the same distance as the mound I would be pitching from – 18 metres.  Further than you think. I could now get the baseball in the glove about three quarters of the time.

A famous video exists on YouTube of the rapper, 50 Cent, when he threw out the first pitch at the New York Mets. He hit a photographer on the head, ten metres to the left of the catcher. I was determined that would not be me.

On arrival in Macon, we had checked into a rather plush, historical guesthouse. The owner had restored the house to its Georgian splendour, and we were invited to ‘cocktails in the lounge’ before dinner. A tray with a series of expensive spirits was placed atop a period sideboard beneath the largest chandelier I have ever seen. 

I don’t think the guesthouse owner was expecting the two of us to rock up wearing streaky bacon-covered caps and Macon Bacon outfits. He was a wealthy Southern gentleman, who had a room covered in photos of him with various presidents, celebrities and politicians and he had attended the inauguration of the last three of the presidential variety. Clearly, he viewed himself as a pillar of the local community.

 Inwardly, I thanked God that I had not purchased the bacon-scented shirt I had eyed excitedly in the club shop, or we might have found the locks changed when we returned!

Luther Williams Field is the second-oldest minor league baseball park in the country and had played host to the Macon Peaches and Macon Braves in its past. However, both teams had relocated to other cities and Macon had been left bereft of baseball.

But now it had now returned to Macon after a few barren years.  I’d seen that the Bacon had sold out some games before we went but wasn’t expecting a crowd of 2000. It felt like the whole city had descended on the ballpark and it showed the passion that Americans have for their sport. The Macon Bacon were playing the Gastonia Grizzlies, a team from North Carolina.

Before our trip, I’d watched ‘Friday Night Lights’- a TV series set in Texas that showed the fanaticism a town has for their local football team. There was a field just outside the stadium and looking out at the vivid orange sunset silhouetting the posts, I imagined that at the end of the baseball season, the focus would turn to America football with the same zeal.  Now it felt like Friday Night Lights had landed in Macon.

The car park was teaming with cars and scores of people were making their way in.  At the entrance to the ballpark, we were greeted by Kevin Bacon (not that one), the Macon mascot. As you’d expect, Kevin was a giant piece of foam pork goodness. We met some of the players before the game, who seemed astonished that anyone would visit them from England or that we understood the game of baseball at all.

I couldn’t resist trying the local craft brews, for some good, old-fashioned Dutch courage before my moment of fame. Both beers were made locally and aptly named – Macon Money and Macon Love, which Macon me chuckle.

Hearing my name over the public address system was a surreal experience and the crowd reacted with loud, supportive cheers. They obviously don’t get many British visitors to a Thursday night game in Macon!

Walking to the mound with baseball in hand, I milked it for all I was worth, waving to the crowd and then tossing the baseball from one hand to the other, trying to make it look like I knew what I was doing.

It was a very humid summer evening, and on the mound, my hands were sweating, and I was increasingly worried that I might ‘do a 50 Cent’. Gulping a few cooling breaths and saying a few words to the big man upstairs (Macon is known as the buckle of the Bible Belt, after all), I assumed the pitching position and launched the ball in the direction of the catcher. The ball bounced once but landed straight into the catcher’s mitt.

Phew, I’ll take that, I thought.

The rest of the night I felt like a celebrity. People recognised me in the stands throughout the rest of the game and came over for a few words. Most of the words were “What on earth are you doing in Macon?” or “How do British people know about baseball?”

Our luck must have been in – the Bacon won 3-2 in extras, the 10^th inning. This was a good start to the trip.

In the morning, we would be heading to Montgomery, in Alabama, the home of the Biscuits. In England, the nearest thing to a biscuit is a savoury scone, minus the currants. In the South of America, biscuits are traditionally eaten at breakfast time or, if you should so fancy, at McDonalds with a burger.

Montgomery was a strange place, it is most famous for being the home of Martin Luther King, the preacher shot amid American civil rights protests. We visited both Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, where he was a pastor and key part of the community, and his house, that had been bombed during the bus boycotts.

Apart from Martin Luther King and its place as an administrative centre, very little else exists in the city centre. It is devoid of a natural downtown – shops, bars, restaurants are very few and far between. Most buildings are occupied by business or governmental offices and there are no noticeable residential districts ‘downtown’.

Hours before a Biscuits game, it is a different matter. People began to congregate outside the beautiful Riverwalk Stadium and occupied nearby bars and restaurants nearby. The stadium has a varied history – it was once a train shed and a confederate military prison during the Civil War. From outside, it retains the look of an old-fashioned station – brickwork, a low roof and beams.

The Montgomery Biscuits ballpark was my very favourite of all the ones we visited on this trip. The South of America is like the North of England – here you will find the friendliest people in the country. Almost everyone you meet greets you with a “How are y’all?”

The park was a beauty – a fine view of the city skyline in the outfield, bare bricks forming the concession stands and best of all, a train track running along the back of the stadium with the longest trains I had ever seen running by.

When I saw one go by during the game, it went on for ten minutes. I ended up wishing I’d paid attention to how many carriages the train had because it must have been hundreds.  The steam whistle sounded every minute or so and became the soundtrack of our trip, as we came to dread it if we were coming up to a crossing.

Seeing the barriers go down could mean a twenty or thirty-minute delay to your journey.  Locals told us that the local mayor pays $1000 if a Biscuits player gets their home run into a train, but it didn’t happen on this night, much as I wished it to.

It was Independence Day. Americans are extremely patriotic on an everyday basis. The national anthem is played before any sports event and it is an expectation that everyone stands up and removes their caps for this.

Anyone not doing this will be called out by those around them. I think I have sung the American national anthem more regularly since 2012 than the British national anthem! I know all the words and join in like an honorary American.

Lots of people were wearing stars and stripes for the occasion and I even saw some ‘Make America Great’ t-shirts in attendance. This would be my first encounter with Donald Trump supporters – all other Americans I’d met hated the man.

We met a couple before the game wearing ‘MAGA’ t-shirts. It turned out they were nice people, even if I couldn’t agree with their politics. They were crazy Biscuits fans and travelled in from a nearby town to all the games.

When it was my time to go and throw out the ceremonial first pitch again, I could hear loud whooping and hollering coming from behind home plate, where the batter stands. It was my ‘MAGA’ friends. This time I got the ball straight into the catcher’s mitt – my first ‘strike’.  Even better, I got to meet Nick Solak, who currently played for the Biscuits, but had been traded from the Yankees the year before. I recognised him and he was astonished to hear British people had even heard of him, let alone knowing the ins and outs of his career.  

We sat with the ‘MAGAs’ for the rest of the game and talked baseball – it was fantastic to meet people who loved baseball and accepted our love of the game as equals. I had a pimento cheese biscuit during the game. It was one of the greatest things I have ever put in my mouth.

The Biscuits were playing the Pensacola Blue Wahoos – another great team name. Their performance, sadly, didn’t match the lovely evening we’d had – a terrible 7-2 loss. It was onwards to Birmingham for us the next day. Not our Birmingham, Birmingham Alabama. Time to leave Georgia behind.

The Birmingham Barons play in Triple-A, the level below the Major League. Unfortunately, they were not playing at home during our time in Birmingham, but Helen had been in touch with the club, who had promised a VIP tour of the ground.  

Before we went to the Barons ground, Helen and I had been to the Negro League South museum, who had an excellent exhibition of uniforms, balls and other memorabilia from teams all over the country. I’d become aware of the Negro Leagues back in 2014, when we’d been to San Francisco and met some people advertising it.

Black players were excluded from playing on white teams for fifty years – there had not been one on a Major League team since 1884, so played in their own league.

The first black player to cross the ‘colour line’, i.e. play on a white team, was Jackie Robinson in 1947. He had a tough time when he first signed with the Brooklyn Dodgers, taking racist abuse every day from his own team-mates, other players and fans alike.

He is much revered by everyone now, for his contribution to baseball. So much so, his number 42 was retired by every team in the Major and Minor Leagues. Jackie Robinson Day is celebrated by all baseball teams in July, which seems amazing after his bleak days at the Dodgers.

The Negro League South was the collection of a local doctor, who decided to share his passion with others. His aim was to collect baseballs signed by as many Negro League players as he could find and had a whole wall dedicated to this. 

I’m a huge fan of a baseball uniform, so to see some of the oldest ones in existence was an exciting experience to me.  When I considered the temperature outside (upwards of one hundred degrees Fahrenheit), I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would have been like to wear a thick wool uniform for hours on end, which was akin to a blanket found on a bed in the depths of winter.

Today, it is ridiculous to think that black players were not accepted, when so many are instrumental in their teams today. The Negro League museum was a great tribute to these brave men, who paved the way for others to play on Major League teams.

The Birmingham Barons play at a purpose-built new stadium, that wouldn’t look out of place in a higher league. We were greeted by the assistant manager, who told us the history of the team.

The Barons were a Negro League team in the past, who played at Rickwood Field just outside the city. They are now a minor-league affiliate of the Chicago White Sox, whose ground we had visited earlier on in the year and had loved also.

A VIP tour it was! On arrival, I was presented with a shirt and baseball, signed by the whole team and we got to go everywhere in the ballpark, including the expensive executive suites, gym, manager’s office and the home dressing room. It was a beautiful view from the stands, looking out across the city and I was sad I would not see a game there.

The Barons were playing at home the next day and it was exciting to see it set up with the uniforms the team would by playing in. Helen and I would catch up with the Barons on our next stop when they played the Chattanooga Lookouts.

Leaving Birmingham, it seemed fitting to visit the original home of the Barons. A nostalgia game was being played by men dressed in throwback uniforms, so it was easy to imagine what it would have been like in its day.

It was onto Tennessee, the third state of our trip. I couldn’t help laughing when I pulled back the curtains in our hotel room when we arrived and could see the ballpark from our window! It was great to be able to stroll to the game later in the day, something I thought we might be grateful for looking up at the black clouds above and the humidity was off the scale.

Chattanooga is famous for its ‘Choo Choo’, a song sung by Glenn Miller, which tells the story of a train journey from New York to Chattanooga, where he would meet the woman of his dreams and settle down for good. The words of the song were inscribed on the sidewalk on the site of the historic trainline.

It reminded me a lot of Hull in some ways. The locals were rightly proud of their city, which they felt hid its light under a bushel. However, they were delighted it had been voted one of the ‘Top Forty-Five Places To Go’ in the New York Times for 2018. The city had a lovely waterfront area, surrounded by mountains.

It is for a mountain that the Chattanooga baseball team are named. Lookout Mountain is a mountain ridge outside the town, the scene of the well-named ‘Battle of Lookout Mountain’ in the Civil War in 1863.

The ballpark was on a hill, visible from all over the city. AT&T Field had some great features: spotlights which wouldn’t look out of place in a League Two football ground, lit-up LED and outsized baseballs surrounding the ground. 

I was, once again, throwing out the first pitch and this time would have Helen taking part too, along with a man who was still celebrating Independence Day four days later in a lurid stars-and stripes suit outfit.  All of us safely navigated our throws without a ’50 Cent’ moment, you’ll be glad to hear. 

 For this game, we had prime seats behind home plate, which gave us a different perspective, hearing the umpire’s calls up close and seeing how quickly the ball moved from the pitcher’s hand to the batter – 0.375 seconds on average. I couldn’t even see it most of the time, never mind react and get a bat on the ball, sometimes with the outcome of sending the ball over the fence for a homerun. 

Dark clouds gathered and the sky turned increasingly black as the evening went on. When the heavens opened, it was like being instantly wet. I had never experienced raindrops so heavy or numerous. By the time we raced to the back of the stand to the concourse, we were soaked through.

Because of the humidity, we were dry ten minutes later! We took full advantage of the rain delay to experience one of baseball’s quirky menu features – ‘Bacon on a stick’. This was an enormous thick piece of pork belly, coated in a sticky-sweet sauce, woven onto a long skewer. It was probably best not to look at the calorie count, so I didn’t, but can declare it a work of culinary genius.

The Lookouts certainly knew how to put on a show. Between innings, the mascots, who were named among others, ‘Whale Gretzky’ and ‘LeBronco James, after Wayne Gretzky the ice hockey player and LeBron James, the basketball player, danced, played games and then had a race, which was filled with comic falling over moments.

The baseball was great too, Lookouts beat the Barons 3-2. I didn’t mind who won, but the Birmingham fan next to me seemed a little disgruntled. I gave my baseball to a little boy who had been avidly watching the game and chatting away to us all night. His mum asked us to sign it, so we did – ‘From your new friends from England’. I’d love to think that he’d look at it when he was older and remembered the night he’d met the crazy ladies who had travelled 4150 miles to watch the Lookouts.

Next up was the Asheville Tourists, who play at McCormick Field. If you’ve ever watched the film ‘Bull Durham’, you’d have seen Kevin Costner’s character playing for the Tourists after being let go by the Durham Bulls. Asheville is in North Carolina. Almost every day of the trip was a new state for the list.

This ground was opened in 1924, but baseball had been a feature in Asheville since 1894, when the Asheville Moonshiners were playing. Outside was a twenty-feet-tall Louisville Slugger bat, a famous brand which most players use.

There was a brewery opposite the baseball field, called Wicked Weed Brewing, which we visited before the game. For some reason, there was a huge portrait of Henry VIII on the wall. I never did find out what the connection was, but it seemed odd.

Some of the game seems a blur now, I’ll blame the local moonshine craft beers for that. I do remember spectacular views of the nearby Smoky Mountains from the stands. The baseball wasn’t great, a terrible 9-2 loss to the local Greenville Drive.

Next morning, predictably, I was the most hungover I had been for years. There was nothing for it but to try and put things right with a local delicacy – fried chicken, waffle, fried green tomatoes and grits.  Nothing like a bit of stodge and grease to make you feel better. After a few cups of very strong coffee, we were ready to move on to Charleston in North Carolina.

The Riverdogs were the team I had most been looking forward to in the entire trip. As I have already mentioned, they were one of the Yankees farm teams, who play in Single A, four levels below the New York Yankees. Once again, I had been promised a VIP tour and had even been invited to watch batting practise, which takes place before the ballpark opens.

Players practise their swings by hitting balls from an enclosed dome-shaped net and it was spectacular to hear up-close the sound of the ball being hit hard. Standing on the field next to the batters, it was easy to appreciate just how far they had to hit the ball to hit a home run.

At Joseph P. Riley Jr. Park, or ‘The Joe’ as it is known, batters must hit the ball one hundred and twenty-one metres to get a ball over the fence in centre field. Rounders this is not.

The current team are made up of a lot of players from the Dominican Republic, Cuba and Venezuela, where the Yankees scout a lot to find young talent. Many of the players were around nineteen or twenty and didn’t speak English. Their faces were a picture when it was explained that we were huge Yankee fans from England, who knew who their names. We got a photo with the whole squad, which I was delighted with.

I had some baseball cards that I had collected with me and got those signed. You never know if some of them will make it through to play for the Yankees one day. Dellin Betances, Brett Gardner, Aaron Judge and Gary Sanchez have done just that and play in the team today. It was fantastic to think that they had stood where I was standing today when they were younger.

We were given the VIP tour by the assistant general manager and his young intern, Tina. We even got to go in Bill Murray’s box. The actor is the co-owner of the team, lives locally and often attends games. We didn’t get to see him on this occasion, sadly.

Returning to the stands, I was able to pick up a souvenir baseball, which had been hit there by Wilkerson Garcia, one of the players who had signed my card. Tina introduced us to all the staff and showed us the view at the back of the stadium, overlooking a swamp. At night, crocodiles are clearly visible eyeing up their prey while the game is on.

Baseball has been played in Charleston since 1886, when the team were named the Seagulls. Thirty-two people were in attendance that day. There were a whole lot more today. My name was announced over the speaker system and they told the crowd how I was on a road trip to celebrate being cancer free. The cheering from the stands was deafening and people stood on their feet and waved their caps. It was a very emotional moment for me.

By now, I was proficient at throwing the baseball and managed to throw the ball somewhere near the strike zone. However, my arm was aching afterwards. I have no idea how a pitcher can throw many warm-up pitches before the game, throw a hundred more during the game and recover to pitch again in five days’ time. I felt like my arm was ready for ‘Tommy John’ surgery, a common injury for pitchers, who damage their ulnar cruciate ligament in their arms.

Tina, the intern, had told us we would spot her during the game, but she would be in disguise. Mascots ‘toss’ t-shirts into the crowd in between innings and when Charlie, the Charleston one, pointed to me and waved as ‘he’ threw a t-shirt in my direction, I knew it was Tina inside. Sadly, a taller man in front of me grabbed it out of the air, just as I was about to lay my hands on it.

Our bad luck was to continue when the Riverdogs lost 6-0. The Delmarva Shorebirds scored early and never looked back. I didn’t care, we had the best day and I will be watching the fortunes of the Riverdogs as they rise through the ranks.

The last stop of our Minor League journey was Savannah, back in Georgia again. The Savannah Bananas (you have to say it American-style to make it rhyme) play in the Coastal Plains League, the same as Macon Bacon, and are their arch-rivals.

We were very much looking forward to this game as it was a complete sell-out for months, but I had been lucky enough to get some through the club, who put me in touch with the American Cancer Society, who were holding a special night ‘Strike Out for Cancer’ and offered me some tickets.

Because it was part of my bucket list and I was celebrating being cancer free, the lady who I had contacted asked me to be part of a special ‘walkaround’ the pitch with other cancer survivors before the game.

The weather in Savannah was atrocious and we weren’t sure if the game would even be played. Rain was bouncing off the ground when we arrived and we were greeted by none other than the owner, Jesse Cole, himself with an umbrella to keep us dry. We knew it was him because he was wearing a vivid yellow suit, complete with yellow trilby hat.

 He is famous in the minor leagues for his ‘fans first’ policy and has won many awards for his entrepreneurial skills in making baseball entertainment as well as sport. Something that should be admired when baseball games can last upwards of three hours.

Outside, I picked up my tickets from the ‘Will Call’ office and was delighted to find that the American Cancer Society had left me some gifts in the envelope – a badge, some magnets and a lanyard as a memento of the night and a handwritten message from the lady who I had purchased the tickets from.

Before the game, we cancer survivors gathered as the rain gradually petered out and the pitch was cleared of water by all the Savannah Bananas team and ground staff. Ten minutes later, it was dry. Georgia weather clearly has its uses.

By the beginning of the ‘walkaround’ we were fifty in number, ages ranging from seven-ish to 90-ish. It was amazing to think that everyone here had shared my experience, having cancer and still being here to tell the tale. The whole of the crowd was on its feet and the noise was deafening. I hadn’t expected the experience to affect me so much and it took a great deal of emotional strength to gather myself and not cry the whole way around.

The teams stood on the edge of the pitch and we got to shake hands or high five with them all as we made our way around the bases. It was an uplifting experience that I will never forget. The collective strength of the group and all that we had been through still makes me well up when I think of it. We were featured on the video that the Bananas made that night. Wearing bright yellow baseball shirts and caps made it easy to spot ourselves.

Jesse Cole was there to greet us again and said a few words to everyone as they passed. He is famous for his motto ‘fans first’ and the entertainment that night at the Bananas was indeed bananas.

For instance, new babies were welcomed to the family by playing the ‘Circle of Life’ song from the Disney film Lion King, dressing them like bananas and the team fell to their knees to worship a new fan. Both teams also participated in a banana-eating contest, which the Bananas team of course won, and the mascots danced off against members of the crowd. 

There was something every moment of the night. Never have three hours of my life passed so quickly. It was fabulous entertainment for young and old alike. Everyone sang, danced and cheered until they were hoarse and exhausted. The baseball was almost secondary. The fanaticism of the fans for their local team was plain to see. I loved every minute of it.

Minor League baseball was unlike anything I have encountered before. Major League baseball is known as ‘The Show’, but to be honest, minor league baseball really should be. Smaller towns and cities have a passion for their team I had rarely encountered watching Major League baseball. It was fabulous and made me love baseball all the more, if that’s possible.

The Yankees will always be my first love, but I have a fondness for all the teams I went to see. Now I have more friends I can follow in the middle of the night, more players to watch grow into big leaguers and some amazing memories. The trip felt like ‘A League Of My Own’ – seven minor league teams and one major league, the Atlanta Braves to finish the trip.

Baseball has taken me to places I would never have dreamed of seven years ago, some that I had never even heard of a year ago. When I walked into Yankee Stadium all those years ago now, I had not anticipated the journey it would lead me on. 

Now, this year I will not have to travel so far, my beloved Yankees are coming to visit me in the UK in June, playing their rivals, the Boston Red Sox at West Ham’s Olympic Stadium in London. I have tickets for both games, of course.