It’s a warm late spring day and the White Sox are playing the Dodgers at U.S. Cellular Field. Now, for this die-hard Mariners fan, I couldn’t be further away from the team I loved. But thanks to an amazing aunt and uncle, I was flown out with my brother and mom to the Chicago area for a baseball trip for the ages -- one week, three stadiums, and an experience I would never forget. That trip is what made me realize that I am such a lame fan; my favorite team was only 300 miles from home, and I saw the Chicago White Sox first. The Cubs are my second favorite team and have been since my aunt and uncle moved to Chicago, so I wasn’t even seeing my favorite Chicago team. But still, that made me yearn to see all of the major league ballparks.

Fast forward three years, and I finally got to see my home team’s park, Safeco Field. I was so little when the Mariners played in the Kingdome, but Safeco always seemed so new and gleaming. I had spent every summer watching them on TV, listening to broadcasting legend Dave Niehaus (may he rest in peace), and listening to Dave Sims and his fun commentary. But in 2014, I finally got my call up to the big leagues, a game versus the White Sox, of all teams. We had a blast, I took pictures galore, and the Mariners won, despite almost coug’ing (a term used to describe the woeful Northwest sports teams) it in the ninth inning. That was the spark I needed to really fall in love with the sport I had stopped playing.

I got into playing baseball later than I would have liked. I didn’t start playing on a team until the 5^th grade, and even then I wasn’t good enough to play with the kids my age, so I played in a grade below. I was on some pretty bad teams, but the fun we had made it all OK in the end. My teammates made the game fun. Then middle school came, and I was still a little bit behind the curve when it came to developing skills, but I was always eager to learn. Then in 8^th grade, I quit because my parents were going through a divorce. I remember my coach, who has since passed away, tell me the most important words I ever heard: “You know that you are good enough, but you have to be passionate, and that is why I am not putting you on the team. You have to be passionate.” I returned in 9^th grade, hopeful that I could rebound and become a better ball player. Then the world came down.

My coach was the head of discipline at my high school, and our assistant coach was a former student who had enlisted in the military who was rather brutish. To make matters worse, we literally had to recruit people who had never played before to make a team. And then you had the hotshot jocks that, instead of being team-builders, decided to put us all down because we didn’t have the best gear, swing, or arsenal of pitches. I relentlessly got bullied and picked at, and to make matters worse, my dad was a vocal parent who said some weird stuff. And those kids aimed down range at me. I was at a hard part in my life because that was the only time I saw my dad, and I felt like he was making my life worse. I still never let those kids off the hook for that.

The worst part came after the season ended and I didn’t play the next year. One kid harassed me daily, and to make it even better, his mom was a local news reporter who did a story on why bullying is hurting our youth. (Practice what you preach.)

You may be wondering why I poured my heart out on the page here, but I promise there is a point. I grew to resent the very thing I loved, and even though I will never play again, I learned that you can still love something even though it won’t always love you back.

I had an old friend whose grandpa I would watch baseball with. We went to her lake cabin and he would always have the game on, and at no point would he turn it off, through thick and thin. That man taught me a valuable lesson about not only baseball, but about life in general as well; never give up on something you love. He has since passed away, as well.

Since moving to Western Washington, I have been to over 10 Mariners games, and I always make sure to take a lap around the stadium and visit the Dave Niehaus statue. I think back to my friend’s grandpa, and even my own grandpa, and cherish the fact that baseball is always going to be there for me. Trust me, I would know. I am a Mariners fan first, and my other team is the Cubs, who, up until this year, were losers for 108 years. I think back to all of those summer nights watching the game, and watching it turn out good or bad, and knowing that I will be back tomorrow. I hope that when I have kids one day, I can share my story of why I love baseball, and they can create their own memories.

As for me, I just want to thank all of those people who have impacted my life and exposed me to the game. I promise I will pass the torch to the new generation. Go M’s! Go Cubs!