When I was younger, I could not have been less into sports if I tried. Anytime my dad would try to get me to sit down and watch a game, I would refuse and instead go into another room and turn on “iCarly.”
Growing up, a stadium 20 minutes away from me sponsored a professional baseball team from a league not affiliated with Major League Baseball. Friends in elementary school would have their birthday parties there and my dance studio even performed during the seventh-inning stretch a few times.
I could not even be bothered to watch the game anytime I went to an event and instead opted to chat with my friends about whatever elementary school drama was happening.
When I was 12, my grandfather offered my dad an extra two tickets to a Yankee game. Spontaneously, I told my dad I wanted to go with him, even though I knew legitimately nothing about his favorite baseball team. He got me an Aaron Judge shirt and prepared me with all I needed to know before the game.
Once I walked into the stadium, this feeling overwhelmed me. I can never explain how I felt, but it felt oddly majestic. It also did not help that my grandfather’s boss had incredible tickets that I could never afford again in my life, which inevitably set me up for failure on my next trip to Yankee Stadium.
While I had never paid attention to a baseball game before, I was dialed into this game. Every pitch, I watched and waited for something great to happen. I, of course, rooted for some home runs but they did not come in that game.
I left the stadium that day early to beat the traffic, which my dad learned the hard way the next year, was not my cup of tea. However, when I left the stadium, I was filled with happiness for a team I had only pretended to be a fan of prior.
That fall was the season I became a diehard baseball fan and I never looked back. That postseason was filled with some of my favorite (and least favorite) moments since becoming a fan. I became that girl who constantly talked about sports with her friends, even though they never cared about what was being said.
Rather, I rambled on about players that they did not know, except Judge. They were forced to know who he was.
Once my friends and I turned 18 and their parents were less strict about driving, I got them to go to games with me. Those games are some of my favorite memories.
After years of watching and attending games, it became harder to leave the stadium at the end of the season without an exact date of when I would be back. One time, when I was leaving, I asked myself how I could make it to more games in the future. Of course, there was always the option to become a millionaire and get season tickets, but that did not always seem realistic.
When I thought more about this, I realized that there was a way for me to combine writing, which I love doing, with my biggest passion. After that, I decided that I wanted to be a sports journalist. Coming to Penn State and being able to take part in so many amazing clubs to build my portfolio while having the most fun possible was a great decision for me.
As a child, I would have never imagined that one day I would be going to school to become a writer, let alone for sports. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened with my life if I had not pushed to go to that baseball game. If I had not discovered one of my biggest passions and experienced some of my favorite memories.
Thankfully, I do not have to know that feeling.