It's on my mind as I am nearing the final games of the 1950 baseball season I've been rolling since March 2014. I am still debating about doing 1972 or 1991. Both are important seasons for me. I watched 1972 as a kid in Minnesota; it was one of the first seasons I really watched closely as the Twins finished third that year behind Oakland. I am also debating going to my home town in Minnesota next month on my first vacation since my wife passed away nine years ago. I found a place to stay only 10 blocks from my home, and it'd be neat to roll games in that 1972 season while there, so close to the home where I watched the games as an 11 year old.
But 1991 was a great season, as well. I've written about that year here before, so stop me if you've heard this: I was in Lubbock, Texas, enrolled in a PhD program in English at Texas Tech and in the midst of a horrible, failing relationship. I bailed, dropping out of school and love between Games 2 and 3 of the Series that featured Minnesota and Atlanta. The Twins' winning the World Series that year was the salve to the heartbreak I experienced.
So, I obsess over which season to do next.
And, as a newspaper writer who's stuff is read by nearly 200,000 people daily, I at times worry if I'm doing a rotten job. We don't hear compliments on a story, but make one mistake and the phones light up. I once wrote in a story about an Arkansas house where he once lived, that Ernest Hemingway killed himself in an old hotel in Ketchum, Idaho. Ye-gads, the calls! It wasn't a hotel, the astute readers barked. It was an apartment building converted from an old hotel.
That doubt transfers over to any writing I do, and even to this blog. I run out of ideas at times. And I wonder if anyone even really cares about this. It's the thoughts of the low self-esteem we writer-types get.
But both my dilemmas — which season to play next and if the blog is worth the time — were answered with a package left in the stairway of my workplace this week.
I was leaving the office, heading to an assignment in a town about 50 miles away when I saw the large box. I opened it and, to my stunned surprise, I found a large framed picture of the 1991 Minnesota Twins logo on white material and red pinstripes, like their uniforms. There was also the 1987 World Series patch, the “TC” logo and a 25-year anniversary patch.
A simple note read: “A couple of guys from Michigan enjoy reading Love, Life and APBA Baseball.”
It was signed “Jerry and David” from St. Clair Shores, Mich.
I don't know Jerry and David from St. Clair Shores, Mich., but I am shocked, and pleased, by the offering. The picture will hang up on the wall above the table I roll these replay games. Above the table where I'll play the 1991 season next.
Yes, both of my dilemmas were solved in a single kind gesture. I will play 1991 next and I get feedback on this blog. A package from Jerry and David in St. Clair Shores, Mich., solved everything.