I was born into a stereotypical, nuclear, New England family. My ancestors, going back three generations, have lived in the state of Connecticut, which I consider to be the unofficial crossroads of baseball. Connecticut has the unique geographic position making it part of both the Tri-State and New England areas. Currently, no professional sports teams call Connecticut home yet, with the proliferation of media, sports broadcasting is at an all time high (interesting side note: for those who don't know, ESPN is headquartered in Connecticut).

With no team to swear allegiance to, the citizens of the nutmeg state are torn between the two closest institutions: the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees. Sure, you can always cop out and go with the Mets, if you can look over the '86 World Series and their less than stellar win-loss ratio, but most often in the state of Connecticut you're either a Sox fan or a Yanks fan.

I grew up watching baseball and I grew up playing it's feminine equivalent: softball. (For some reason, the whole "girIs can't play baseball" mentality is still largely in effect on the little league circuit). I grew up rooting for the ultimate underdog, the Boston Red Sox, during the height of the Bambino curse hysteria (we're talking pre-2004 fandom). I knew a bit about baseball; I knew the rules, I knew the nightly lineup by heart, I knew the numbers and positions of all my favorite players.

Baseball is a hard sport to get into, whether you're on the diamond or in the stands, but I wholeheartedly believe part of the magic of the sport can be found in its rich history. I knew all about Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Carl Yastrzemski, Yogi Berra and Sandy Koufax. These men were the players of my grandfather's era; these men were Northeast royalty, American heroes; because of the intense rivalry between the Sox and the Yanks not everyone loved them, but damn near everyone respected them.

If you know a little something about baseball, you may have noticed all of the players I listed are white men. This is not because I personally believe the greatest players in the history of the sport are predominantly white. However, the majority of the sentimentality and historical documentation surrounding the original All-American sport has been whitewashed. This is an unsettling fact and unfortunate mentality that continued into the civil rights movement and, to a certain degree, still exists to this day.

My parents' era of baseball was, in my mind, the greatest era of baseball to witness. During the 1970s, baseball and popular culture collided on a field. Players like Roberto Clemente, Reggie Jackson and Willie Stargell were able to mix the two, baseball and current events (of the '70s, mind you). They used the diamond as a platform to spread messages of racial equality and true sportsmanship. And then there was Dock.

For those, who have not heard of the late, great Dock Ellis -- he was the starting pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates during their 1970 regular season and teammates with both Clemente and Stargell. No other player exemplified the collision of sports and culture quite like Dock Ellis. He had a big mouth and an even bigger TV presence. He also happened to be the only known professional baseball player to pitch a no-hitter under the influence of LSD. Do I have your attention, now?

If you had no idea who Dock Ellis was, don't feel bad. I had no idea who the man was until I was couch-locked and surfing Netflix for something to distract me between the hours 2-4 am. A technicolor image of a black man in a ball cap caught my eye. The picture itself hinted at the film's psychedelic subject matter and with a tagline involving both baseball and LSD I was hooked.

As incredibly ridiculous, albeit impressive, as playing professional sports on psychedelics is, Dock Ellis was far more than the riotous wild card he seemed to be. The work he did for equality on the field and in the clubhouse as well as what he devoted his life to following his entry into a rehabilitation program, speaks volumes about the type of person Dock Ellis was and there is a stark contrast between the real Dock Ellis and the icon he became due to his unorthodox on-field antics.

It's unfortunate Dock Ellis is known more for his acid-infused athletics, than for his actual talent and post-MLB advocacy work. He did just as much for Major League Baseball as Clemente and Jackson, yet no one ever hears about Dock.

"No No: A Dockumentary," honestly portrays Ellis from the high point of his career to his descent into addiction. Director Jeff Radice focuses on Dock Ellis the man, not simply Dock Ellis the ball player. This is the main reason, dear reader, that I took the time to talk about both him and his 2014 biopic. Dock was a man that deserved to have his full story and Radice does a wonderful job doing just that in his directorial debut.