THE MECCA, Rickwood FIELD
What’s ONe word you’d use to describe the game of baseball?
Nostalgia.
Whenever I get asked this question, I smile and say, nostalgia. The answer is usually followed with a smirk or “I haven’t heard that one before.”
In case you are wondering, this blog is NOT just about the game of baseball.
This blog is about more than baseball. It’s about the stories we tell and the moments we create. It’s about memories with my parents, godfather, teammates and coaches. It’s about the stories we gather from our experiences. It’s about the moments we learn from and who we learn with.
It’s about the analog era of actually sitting down and watching a game (or watching anything) without a phone in your hand and having a face to face conversation.
MLB @ Rickwood Ticket Gate Entrance
I think about the smiles, laughs and car rides to and from the ballpark. I think about sharing nachos with the wind blowing and fog rolling in at Candlestick after a long day of work just to get a glimpse of (insert player name). For my dad and uncle, it was Willie Mays. For me, it was Barry Bonds and Ken Griffey Jr.
To me, baseball is about nostalgia.
Rickwood Field Main Gate
Baseball always comes back to the stories and the relationships of the people I’ve crossed paths with along the different seasons of life - and baseball.
This notion of nostalgia hit me like a ton of bricks, or if you’re into the baseball references…more like a 100 mph fastball to the back. It hurt hard.
I’m standing near the Rickwood field entrance on June 18th having a conversation with an MLB employee and friend talking about the poetic part of baseball. He then softly tells me about Willie Mays. Chills. I pause and say…
“but wasn’t this for him?”
The news of his passing shook me. The stadium was filled with tears from fans that came here in part because of Willie. Chants of Say Hey echoed throughout the crowd while a montage played with the joyful #sayhey jingle. I felt it. Deeply.
Willie Mays Locker Tribute in Visitors Dugout
In that moment, I realized it wasn’t JUST about Willie Mays for me. It wasn’t really about the game of baseball.
It was about everything the game has done for me and continues to do for me. Baseball was just the vehicle.
I was flooded with memories of conversations about the game. Memories of playing catch with my dad at the apartment and talking on the porch with my godfather. Memories of my mom coaching t-ball. Memories of watching my little brother hit his first homerun and bringing my daughters to watch him coach at the local college decades later.
It brought up memories of emulating swings of our favorite players with my best friends in the front yard in hopes of one day getting a chance to play professionally.
And that if we were lucky enough, we’d be able to add to the stories to tell our children.
Rickwood History Museum
View from behind home plate during the Willie Mays montage moments after announcing his passing.
The game was just a small part of it. The memories and nostalgia sent a shock through my body and made me think about what the game means to me and where it came from.
My love started because of conversations with my dad and godfather about Willie Mays.
I was meant to be here in this moment at this time.
Full transparency here…I’d give myself a fan rating of about a 4/10. I’ve been to 4 games since I stopped playing a decade ago. I know enough to be dangerous but I don’t follow it nearly as close as many people would think.
My point here is that this is bigger than the game for me.
It’s about my story. Their stories. Our stories. It’s abotu connecting to all of them.
If you’ve been following my work at all, you know that an important part of what I emphasize is that YOU are NOT what you do. You are NOT just a baseball player. You play(ed) baseball. When you are active or in it as they say, we often default to saying we ARE as opposed to it’s what we DO.
You are NOT just a CEO. You own and run a business. You are not just a sales leader, you sell a product. You are not just a teacher, you teach.
You get what I’m saying here?
Simple, yet this is the battle I see having worked with leaders ranging from fortune100 companies to professional athletes and collegiate coaches in sports.
Back to Birmingham…
Birmingham Barons Replica Bus
I barely watched the games at Rickwood Field.
I walked around.
Solo.
It was odd but grounding.
Modern day baseball royalty was everywhere. Jeter. Bonds. A-Rod. Jimmy Rollins. Big Papi. Mr. October. My favorite football player, Terrell Owens was also there. All of em’.
…and well. I didn’t care. It wasn’t that I could care less about them, but it kinda felt like that.
I mean yeah, it woulda been cool to snag a picture with Jeter to send to my teammates who’ve been calling me The Captain for years - or to say what’s up to all-time HR King, Barry Bonds (#gogiants) but it wasn’t about that.
It wasn’t a priority.
As I sat in the corner of the historic field soaking in batting practice, I felt off.
Willie Mays Memorial Plaque
I found myself less interested in the “game” and more interested in the stories I wanted to hear from these players. These #humans who happens to play baseball - who were also pretty good. The broadcast table alone had 2,889 collective homeruns announcing the game.
On one end, it was cool to see the idolization and pure fandom at the park but again, that’s when I realized, it wasn’t about that for me. I was here for the stories.
The one thing I found myself doing?
Observing the people.
Seat. Row 17. Seat 10. Right Field.
I found myself interested in the random conversations with the ushers. My enjoyment came from people jokingly asking if I was related to Derek Jeter. It was listening to the dads tell the stories to the kids who barely know who Barry Bonds is.
I nodded at the families. The dads. The daughters. The mothers. I listened.
Listened to the grandparents and uncles telling stories about the “good ol’ days.”
I listened to the 72 year old gentlemen who sat next to me and shared stories reminiscent of me sitting back at home listening to my uncle and dad argue (thanks Mel).
This is what it’s about. The memories.
All I could do was sit and think about the stories and moments with my family back home.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wished they were with me. I wanted to tell them the stories that were once told to me, so they’d understand why this place was so special. And just maybe, through story, my hope is that one day they would tell these same stories to their children.
Father’s Day souvenir from home.
…but I was right where I needed to be, when I needed to be there.
The highlight of my trip was getting into an Uber with Ervin.
Ervin was a kind man. We talked about life. We talked about growing up on a baseball diamond. We talked about the city of Birmingham and The Say Hey Kid playing at Rickwood as a 16 year old kid.
We talked about family. We talked about living in the here and now. The conversation felt spiritual.
His text in the morning was confirmation that I am right where I need to be.
In my journey.
On my path.
I share the same sentiment with you.
The gift is in the present.
Willie Mays Mural in Downtown Birmingham
Thank you Rickwood.
Thank you Willie.
Head Strong.
Heart Full.
Feet Planted.
