Pining for baseball — its simplicity, its complexity — on a warm, February afternoon

As I sit here, it’s Feb. 27, 2024, and yet the temperature outside is 61 degrees with the sun shining. My office windows here at Wheelhouse Creative LLC are open to allow for the breeze.
And it has me awaiting spring and, nostalgically, what used to be called America’s pastime.
See, I grew up 20 miles from Morgantown in Fairmont. As you’d imagine my first love through most of my life has been WVU football.
But, ah, baseball. Mountaineer football players didn’t appear in newspaper boxscores every day in the spring and summer. Baseball players did – at least through a gloriously long 162-game season.
I was an impressionable lad, as we were called back then. So, when my uncle visited and went on and on about his New York Mets in a New Jersey accent, I was hooked – especially when the “Amazin’ Mets” (or “Miracle Mets”) shocked everyone by winning a World Series.
Tom Seaver was my hero. Ditto guys named Ed Kranepool, Cleon Jones, Bud Harrelson, Tommie Agee and Jerry Grote.
They were my heroes because they were in those boxscores. They were my heroes because each Sunday the local newspaper ran league leaders, and my eyes would tear through all the names to find my guys. They were my heroes because I’d buy pack after pack of baseball cards to find Jerry Koosman, dusted with the sugar of seemingly plastic bubble gum.
Yes, I had to be different and pick the Mets as my favorite team rather than the Pittsburgh Pirates but understand that all the Major League Baseball players were heroes.
When we played wiffle ball in the backyard, everyone imitated Wilver Dornell “Willie” Stargell of the Pirates. We’d windmill our bats, just like Stargell, until the pitcher started his windup.
We’d mimic Juan Marichal’s high leg kick as a pitcher and Joe Morgan’s chicken wing flap as a hitter.
They were all heroes to me. They were all glorious.
I remember visiting my grandfather, who had been a good baseball player, spending his retirement by watching the Pirates on TV. I remember thinking, “That’s Nirvana.”
As with much of life, though, perspectives change. These days I’ll still enjoy the experience of a game at PNC Park. I still follow the Mets. I still enjoy watching a game here and there on TV.
Yet so much is different. Rules have changed drastically. Pitchers rarely go the distance – or are allowed to try. Around the sport, much of the talk isn’t about so-and-so’s fastball, but his salary. Money talks? Rather, the talk is about money.
Still, I love the simplicity of the sport – a bat, a ball and four bases – and yet the complexity of it. I still feel the magic when I go to a game, especially if the weather is nice.
And right at this moment, enjoying a beer and a hotdog while watching a baseball game sounds pretty daggone good.
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Mitch Vingle covered sports in West Virginia for 38 years. Follow Mitch on Twitter at @MitchVingle and be sure to check out the rest of Wheelhouse Creative’s website for your marketing and advertising needs. If interested, call us at 304-905-6005.