Why I am a fan

When I was just five or six years old I remember really loving both of my grandmother’s and they both really enjoyed following baseball. My Grandma Gottschalk (my mom’s mom) listened all of the time and especially on the radio if the game was not on t.v., which seemed like she did whenever I visited or spent the night in the summer. She would have her radio on in the kitchen where should could do other things while paying attention to the game. While we were playing cards or some game at the kitchen table, she would clap, yell or holler at the radio if something went well or even if it didn’t. Either way, you knew where she stood on her baseball team . . . if she was happy with them you knew it and if not . . . well you knew that a “son of a bitch” was coming sooner or later. It was quite entertaining especially when she happened to have a cigarette in her hand that had ashes on it that were like an inch long. Usually this was an indication of how caught up in something she was doing.

For my sixth birthday my Grandma Gottschalk had gotten me a battery-operated radio. Not just any radio either—it looked like a cheeseburger or better yet a Quarter Pounder from McDonalds. Not only was it cool that it was my own radio, which I could choose from any AM station to listen to (it was the late 70’s after all), but I could take it wherever I wanted. I was thrilled—even more than when I had gotten my first bikini bathing suit the year before. Regardless, I distinctly remember one summer evening taking my radio out onto our back porch and tuning into the Detroit Tigers game. I had grabbed a lawn chair and settled the radio right onto my lap. I could hear Ernie Harwell giving the calls of the game while I was outside soaking in some summer breezes and late afternoon sun. Meanwhile the game was being televised where my dad happened to be watching it inside the house in the living room. I could actually hear the game a bit on t.v. through the screen door where likely it was Al Kaline and George Kell announcing, but I got to hear it on the radio . . . on my radio. I guess it was the first indication that I liked to do things my own way, but also that I LOVED the sound of baseball on the radio. I also loved that my grandma loved the game too.

From there I just continued to follow sports never really playing except for pick-up games, but always following them . . . watching and cheering on my sister’s little league games, watching the Tigers, Lions, Pistons and Red Wings . . . and eventually any major team playing. When I was in high school I did end up playing basketball and ran track, which put things in a new perspective and created new memories, but ultimately I was a fan. And with all of these experiences I can recall moments where not only did I enjoy the moment, but also the experience that I had with an individual or a relationship that grew from the experience. My grandma is my first such memory although there are countless other moments and memories and not only my own, but the memories of many others who not only shared in heartbreaking, or uplifting experiences but moments where relationships developed because of these experiences.