That song was playing in my head when I ran into a guy I used to know, the other day. He was showing me some of his antiques and I mentioned that my stepdad would have loved his basement, because he used to love all kinds of old tractor, auto, oil, and farm memorabilia.
He asked who my stepdad was, so I told him.
“Holy shit. I used to go watch him pitch for the Cold Springs Cats. He was a great ball player.”
“Yeah, he sure was. One of the best I’ve ever seen, but I only ever watched around here. Everyone tells me he was one of the best pitchers in the area. He said you and your brothers were good ball players too.”
“Yeah? We did play a lot of ball. Hey, you have to come and check out my sports room.”
I followed along and was just dumbfounded by what I saw.
There was an entire room dedicated to his hockey and baseball careers.
Jerseys, write ups, photos, sticks, you name it. It was pretty awesome.
He went through a brief history of all the teams, teammates, and leagues that he played in. As we would get to the next item, he would touch it and get a bit wistful.
These were his glory days.
Some people might have seen this as arrogance, but all I could see in his face was pride and love.
Love for something he had given up.
Just like Paul. Continue reading