Grandma’s Game
When I think of baseball, I often think of my grandmother Betty.
She loved the game. She followed baseball with devotion. She knew the players, the rhythms of the season, and the joy that came with watching a game unfold across a summer afternoon.
I spent a lot of time with my grandmother and my grandfather during my childhood. So much so, that they were like second parents to me. They invested a lot of time into their grandchildren and they helped my parents manage having two kids and jobs.
That was plenty OK with me because their home—because of my grandmother—was a place where baseball lived. It was like part of the furniture. My grandmother kept old ticket stubs, old baseball programs and had plenty of team gear. It seemed like baseball was always on the TV.
My grandmother had two favorite teams: the Milwaukee Brewers and the Chicago Cubs. She watched or listened to just about every game from both of her teams—sometimes at the same time.
I always picture her sitting in front of the TV, crafting, crocheting or making blankets as gifts for others, while Harry Caray and Steve Stone called the Cubs on WGN and Bob Uecker’s voice played in her ears through a radio headset. We were lucky to have those great voices and personalities in our lives, alongside the game we both loved.
And since baseball is a sport that’s hard to play without someone else, I often called upon my grandmother to toss me wiffle balls when I was a kid, so that I could crank them into oblivion (or about 20 feet) with my big red plastic bat.
When I got older, and didn’t need her to toss me balls in the backyard, I would just spend hours sitting around and watching the games or talking about games, talking about the outlook of the season.
When there was less conversation as I became a quiet teenager, it was still easy to talk to her about baseball. It was a language that we shared, that allowed us to remain connected.
My birthday often overlapped with the Major League Baseball All-Star Game, and we made a tradition of watching it together. She’d go out of her way to have my favorite foods ready and make it an even more special game to watch.
When I was playing baseball in high school, she was almost always there to watch. I played hard because I wanted nothing more than to have her be proud of me. My favorite games I got to play were the ones that I got to play with her there.
She meant a lot to me. I’m sure that’s a lot of the reason baseball still does to me.
Even though my grandmother passed away many years ago now, the memory of her is vivid. Every time I pick up a baseball, every time I watch a game on TV, and every time I walk up to a baseball stadium with my eyes looking up and past the upper deck, I think of her.
CRAIG SAUER is a writer, communicator and former journalist living in Fitchburg, Wis. Baseball is his favorite sport.
