A Mother’s Day letter from the ballpark

A note from the first-base bleachers.

Hi Mom,

Sorry I didn’t get around to the podcast this week — my real job caught up with me a bit. We’ll have to save that one for next year.

I’m actually writing this from the first base bleachers of Jackie Robinson Stadium here in Los Angeles. Oregon is playing UCLA, Lookout sent me down for the series and, well, it’s just about perfect.

This ballpark is surrounded by trees, the sun is just beginning to set, the alumni band is playing, it smells like hot dogs and the Ducks are just finishing up batting practice.

Very cozy. Very old California.

I think you’d love it. You know I do.

You were the one who filled my shelves with baseball books and lined my walls with posters of Ken Griffey Jr. and Edgar Martinez. You took me to get new gear, ran the Little League concession stand, patched up injuries, sat in the bleachers for games I never got in and was the first to lift me up after the ones when I finally did — I think my hit-by-pitch record is safely intact.

We didn’t just have baseball, either. The best Northern Lights I’ve ever seen were during those 5 a.m. drives to hockey practice in Alaska. You’d bring your lava buns and a book and sit through those two hours in a frozen rink like I was going somewhere.

Sitting here, I keep looking around at the players’ moms in the stands and thinking about how many of them did the same things. Some are from California and are getting to watch their sons play close to home. Others made trips from around the country. The difference, of course, is that they’re not just watching their kids do what they love — they’re watching them do something they’re damn good at.

They just all look so proud.

Granted, I know what that looks like. Despite my athletic inadequacies and the ups and downs of pursuing a career I love in a cursed field, I’ve never for a second wondered if you were proud.

I believed it after wins — like the last time we were here in LA together for the Jim Murray Scholarship.

I believed it after losses — you didn’t blink when I quit The Athletic and were a Day 1 I-5 Corridor subscriber.

And I really believed it when, after my four years of playing around as an independent journalist, you retired and bought a boat only after I regained full-time employment.

Maybe I can’t hit 500-foot home runs like Naulivou Lauaki Jr. or have an arm like Oregon third baseman Drew Smith.

But it’s a Saturday night in Southern California, I’m getting paid to watch a sport you helped me fall in love with, and later I get to write a story that I know you’ll read. Sure, maybe I fake a little embarrassment when you get a little too complimentary in the story comments, but I’ll never take for granted how powerful it can be when someone believes in you.

Heck, I’m sure even after last night’s 11-1 loss, the Oregon moms think their boys have a chance tonight.

On that note, BP is wrapping up and I have to head over to the press box. The clouds are starting to move in and it’s getting a little chilly.

Don’t worry, I brought a sweatshirt, I still have my wallet, and I’ll give you a call in the morning.

I have a game to cover.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Looking for more Oregon Ducks coverage? Lookout Eugene-Springfield is the new home for Tyson Alger’s coverage of University of Oregon athletics.