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.
Thank you.