Bases Empty, No One is Out

I moved to Southern California in August 2019 for a new job teaching at a local university. I wanted to live reasonably close to campus to limit my suffering in the infamous traffic that snarls the region. I had several choices, but I chose Anaheim. Friends and new colleagues questioned my choice, noting that it was “nothing but tourists” as it is home to Disneyland. However, without confessing it, I knew in my heart why I wanted to live here: baseball.

I rented an apartment that was halfway between Disneyland and Angel Stadium of Anaheim, home of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (a truly silly name). I’ve been to Disneyland exactly once since moving and I didn’t walk there. However, I walked to ten Angels games in August and September alone as the 2019 season came to a close.

This was nothing new for me. Before leaving for Texas and graduate school in 2016, I lived in the Chicagoland area for thirteen years. The final four years I spent in Wrigleyville, on Waveland Avenue, less than a mile from Wrigley Field. I purposefully moved there for one reason: baseball. I wanted to watch my beloved Chicago Cubs, my favorite team since I was a kid. I could hear the national anthem from inside the walls of my apartment. During night games, Wrigley’s lights shined on the brick walls out my window across the courtyard. My life and career took me away from that place and I miss it dearly. I thought living near a ballpark again would bring a little more comfort in these new and unfamiliar surroundings.

“well, it’s time to go home, i guess”

It was a Wednesday in mid-March 2020. I was teaching my news writing course and we began class as we always did by discussing current events. Of course, the chatter that day was all about COVID-19. Students were worried and confused. Cases were appearing in the United States, and other universities, including those in California, had begun the transition to online-only learning. I had planned to discuss feature story structure that day, but the lecture and activities never came. Instead, I tried to inform and comfort my students all while listening to their concerns about the virus. With twenty minutes left in class, I noticed some commotion in the room with students reaching for their phones and whispering to one another. I paused.

“What’s up?” I asked.

A student in the front of the room handed me her phone that displayed an emergency message from the university that we were closing campus immediately. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, but I looked out to see twenty-five faces staring back at me, awaiting some guidance.

“Well, it’s time to go home, I guess.”

Students, somewhat shocked and confused, packed up their things, wished each other well, and said goodbye to me as they exited.

One student, Nick, a rabid baseball fan who aspires to be a sportswriter, stopped on his way out.

“How do you think this will affect sports?” he asked.

“I honestly have no idea,” I said. “But I hope it doesn’t. If I’m going to be home, I need some baseball!”

That Wednesday in March was the last time I saw those students in person. I haven’t stepped foot on campus since.

A two-week rain delay

Just a few days later, on March 13, Major League Baseball announced that spring training would be suspended for at least two weeks. In only a matter of days, that “two-week rain delay” was extended, pushing back Opening Day. There was no target date for a return. It was the first time I experienced the endlessness that has endured during this pandemic. Baseball became the first love I seemingly lost to the virus.

To fill the void, sports networks replayed memorable games of yesteryear. Channels filled with playoff games, including World Series clinchers, as well as exhibitions like All-Star Games and Home Run Derbies. I was honestly surprised at my utter lack of interest. Even...