My Most Prized Baseball Possession

Baseball threads its way through all of America, tying together small towns, large cities, and all the suburbs in-between. Following that thread leads to a catalog of experiences with a breadth of history, culture, and people not ordinarily encountered through the average family vacation. Such travels can be the educational opportunities that many of us hope to have, for both ourselves and our families.

Over the past twenty-four years, we have traveled to thirty-nine states and provinces and have seen 181 minor league parks in our ongoing quest to visit every minor league park (independents included) in the United States and Canada. During those travels, we have seen the good, the bad, and the ugly of what American culture has to offer. And we can say that, indeed, every road has been an educational adventure. For instance, baseball has led us to many of the battlefields of the Civil War (e.g., Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Antietam, Manassas), to famous geographic sites (such as Mt. St. Helens, the Smokey Mountains, Death Valley), to small towns that are struggling to stay alive (for instance, Happy, TX; Beloit, WI; Factoryville, PA), and to places we never imagined finding ourselves (such as the back roads of the deep, deep South). Each of these places has taught us about the history, geography, sociology, and psychology of our country. And one thing has stood out to us: American culture is, yes, diverse, but at the same time, very much the same, especially when it comes to baseball.

Sometimes the smallest things, the most unexpected things, can be the most valuable about a trip. We can plan for months, build our expectations to such heights that it could be hard for any trip to live up to the anticipation. And while we’re on that trip, everything that we see and do can be just as wonderful as our expectations. Yet, when one small, serendipitous event occurs, all other sites and people can fade. This often happens to us.

In 1997, when returning from our trip to North Carolina and Virginia, we flew into the Detroit airport to catch a flight to Traverse City (we were living in Michigan then). At that time in Detroit, when boarding those small “puddle jumpers,” they would bus us out to the plane instead of having a jetway. By chance, we boarded the bus first and found some seats. As the bus filled, an older couple got on and came to stand just in front of us. The couple was about in their late 70s, early 80s. He was a tall, thin man with a curious smile. He wore a jaunty plaid cap, set at an angle over pure white hair. She was slight and slightly red-faced, probably from the exertion of walking from the gateway to the bus. Being that Dan’s parents had raised him to be exceedingly polite, he offered his seat to the woman.

As Dan stood holding onto the pole, swaying with the bus’s turns and bumps, the gentleman stared at the logo on Dan’s shirt (a souvenir polo shirt from the Carolina Mud Cats). Finally, the stranger asked if Dan played professional baseball. Dan told him no, he wasn’t officially affiliated with baseball; we were just fans who traveled around to see minor league games. Dan explained that we had started our obsession with the minor league because the majors had become so centered on money, whereas most minor league players still showed a real love of the game.

“Have you ever seen the Charlotte Knights?” the man asked. Again, Dan had to say no, we hadn’t gotten that far south yet. But it was on our list for the near future.

The stranger said, “I was just wondering because I played with the Knights before I was called up to the Washington Senators.”

By the time we got this far in the conversation, it was time to debark the bus and board the plane. On our way to Traverse City, Dan whispered to Ginny that he was not going to miss...