Baseball

I think everyone has wanted their own Ferris Bueller moment. You know, the day when you simply throw all your cares away and grab life by the scruff of the neck instead of going through your daily business.

That didn’t happen last week, but I did indulge myself in some of the movie character’s shenanigans. I went to a noon-time baseball game down in Baltimore.

The whole escapade bore little resemblance to what you see in the movies. I arranged for the afternoon off well in advance, I didn’t go with any friends, and I certainly did not tool around in a priceless sports car on my way to Oriole Park.

I didn’t even catch a foul ball.

But I did enjoy a warm, sunny day, eat a couple of hot dogs and savor an adult beverage. I also ran into two old friends and caught up with them.

That beats a day of work in my book.

Like with most things, I discovered the news from my friends online. I don’t know whether I first saw the announcement on Twitter or Facebook, but I learned Earl Weaver had died when I checked in to see if anyone had posted any funny pictures while I was busy.

I try not to get caught up in hero worship so I didn’t have an immediate visceral reaction to the news. Weaver was 82 years old. He lived a good, long life. I couldn’t get too sad over the death of someone I never met, but one other emotion did take over.

Nostalgia.

As I got ready for work the other day, I spotted something hidden behind a chair in our computer. Once I realized what it was, I knew I had to make a change.

So I found an empty nail in the wall and hung the frame which held some special memories for me. I figured with the Baltimore Orioles actually in the hunt for the playoffs, I could return the tickets for the final three games at Memorial Stadium, the first game at Oriole Park and the 1993 All-Star Game back to a place of prominence.