SO, after Miguel Cabrera was struck out by Sergio Romo ending the 2012 Fall Classic in favour of the San Francisco Giants over the Detroit Tigers last October, the 2013 Major League Baseball season is set to begin tonight over in the Lone Star State of Texas.
Most of you who know yours truly will be acutely aware that of all the sports I follow, baseball is king of the hill for me.
And for that, I have my Dad to be eternally grateful to.
It was when he was growing up in Liverpool in the late 1940s and early 1950s that he became hooked on America's National Pastime. US servicemen stationed in this part of the world after the Second World War often played the game against local sides. Baseball had been popular in the city during the 1930s and I think I'm right in saying Everton FC legend Dixie Dean once played in a game.
Well, my Dad enjoyed watching the contests locally and began tuning into the Armed Forces Radio network which regularly broadcast games from the United States of an evening from April to October. In those days, before the real advent of floodlight evening encounters, games were in the afternoon on the East Coast so would start around 5pm/6pm and be done and dusted by 10pm UK time at the latest.
Baseball, like cricket, is almost tailor-made for radio and during the 1950s he first began to follow the fortunes of the Brooklyn Dodgers before becoming a fan of the Boston Red Sox.
As a very small child I always knew my Dad loved baseball. Where most children had a cricket set (of course, I did) I was also aware of a strange, tanned over-large glove. There was only one that was way too big for my left hand, and for some reason I couldn't quite understand, it seemed to be without a pair. There was also a very heavy wooden stick that I had difficulty picking up and a hard, white, leather ball with a wonderfully-intricate stitched red seam.
In addition, my Dad's Father was a superbly-talented artist in his own right and had created a framed poem of something to to with baseball called Casey At The Bat.
These were strong and dominant images of my childhood so when I became a little older I began to appreciate why my Dad was an enthusiast for baseball.
It was the mid-1980s when I really began to follow the sport Stateside and became a supporter of the San Diego Padres - a completely unfashionable ballclub then, as they are now. Ask any average sports fan on this side of the Pond to identify some Major League Baseball franchises and they'll doubtless name the usual suspects - Yankees, Red Sox, Cubs, Dodgers, Giants, Cardinals. And then they might start to struggle. There's a very good chance they'd never have heard of my team.
Well, the Padres had a very good outfit in the mid-1980s reaching the 1984 World Series which they lost in five games to the powerful Detroit Tigers. Fourteen years later, they were back in their second-ever Fall Classic but this time lost in four straight games to the Yankees.
And that's it when it comes to the history of the San Diego Padres in World Series appearances. So what you can certainly deduce from my support for the team is I am in no way a 'glory-hunter'.
In many ways, though, baseball is much more than World Series triumphs. The game itself is simply wonderful as it pitches - literally - a confrontation between a man on a mound of earth exactly 60ft 6in from home plate where another man is brandishing a rounded bat with the hope of hitting whatever delivery the pitcher hurls his way. If he makes contact successfully 300 times in every 1000, he'll be regarded as a great batter. And that gives you an idea of how incredibly difficult that particular task is.
When all is said and done, like my Dad I simply love the game of baseball. I cannot think of another sport where the balance of fortune between success and failure is located on a knife-edge as thin as this. One pitch could mean a strikeout or a home run - it's that fine a situation.
I don't expect for one minute I'll convert all of you into baseball followers simply by reading this blog. But maybe, just maybe, you might understand my real enthusiasm for this fabulous sport.
I'm thrilled that my eldest son, Matthew, is continuing the family tradition and has nailed his colours north of the 49th Parallel and is fervently following the fortunes of the Toronto Blue Jays.
So with my Dad's Red Sox, Matthew's Blue Jays and my Padres, we'll all set again for what is sure to be another magical season of Major League Baseball.
Play Ball!!!
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