I doubt that I have ever watched an entire baseball game. This is not because of lack of availability. It just wasn't what my family growing up chose as recreation. But the other day an elderly gentleman mentioned that he used to listen to games on the radio. 

I let that sink in. Probably he sat close to the speaker, since there were no earphones then, and tried to ignore the noises of traffic on the street, or his mother washing dishes. His impression of the field, and the players in grass stained uniforms, and the crack of the ball against the bat all depended on the sharp attention and accurate description by the announcer. It was second hand. 

And yet it was all he had. He was a young boy with no one offering to take him to the stadium, and no cable channels. For him, it was fun. At least enjoyable enough to do it again. Yet something was missing. There was no smell of popcorn, or crowds around him cheering. It didn't matter if he was wearing his team's colors, or stood for the anthem. He found out what the score was, and heard about the best plays. But what if the announcer sneezed, and missed a dropped ball? 

One of my hobbies growing up was to collect inspirational quotes. I wrote them in a journal, and drew pictures in the margins. They were about kindness, and stepping into courage. 

But as I find myself on third base, looking toward home plate, I don't just want to read about life, or hear the sound bites. I want to be there, with stained knees, and the smell of the meal I am delivering to a friend who is hurting. I am not content to take the word of someone who is commenting on altruism. I want to be part of the team.