In High School, I batted .091.  One for eleven.  Yes, from where I was at I could not even see the Mendoza Line.  Even though my one hit was a thing of beauty that landed softly in grass of left center field, I knew in my heart of hearts at that very young age that my future in baseball was over.

Since that time, my love for the game has however remained.  I have often wondered if I should have pursued a different course.  Management.  Announcing.  Scouting.  Front office.  There were plenty of other courses out there that I never even considered.  Oh well, I continued to love baseball and passed that appreciation onto my oldest son, Jacob.

Last year, sitting in the stands during Jacob’s games (he plays for the Willmar Red Sox), I took great pleasure in starting random cheers.  My favorite was a “Let’s go, Red Sox!”  Half the parents would say “Let’s go” and the other half “Red Sox!”  Sure it sounds simple enough, but at the right moment in a game, it is a thing of beauty.  A true appreciation of the sport.  A sign of joy between children and parents.

As the cold Winter enveloped Minnesota, my mind considered ways of “enhancing” the cheer.  That’s when I took to the Internet (always a questionable move) and purchased a $10 costume.  I would “enhance” the cheer by becoming an actual Red Sock by wearing a red hood.  Simple, yet effective.  Thankfully, I had enough good judgement to resist purchasing the red spandex full body suit.  I fear that I would have looked like a cross between the Blog and the Grinch with a full body rash.  Yes, it would have been the body suit that led to a lawsuit (or better said with less of a rhyme, “the body suit that led to several restraining orders”).

Thank you to Sheryl Price for capturing the moment, although I’m still unsure of who is really behind the mask.

Any who, as I slipped into my minimalist costume, it led to a thought I had never considered.  Mascot.  That may have been my missed baseball calling.  Oh well, roads never traveled.  I live though with no regrets, because on warm Summer evenings, if you open your window and listen closely, drifting across the air you may hear the faint call of a man realizing at last his baseball calling, “Let’s go, Red Sox!”