I got to watch some baseball on television last weekend.
Yes, I watched the Indy 500, too, and I still don't know how Scott Dixon survived, let alone walked away. But it was Memorial Day, which means it's summer, which means it's baseball.
I rarely watch television of any kind for any significant time. But I've been relegated to the dugout for the next month or so, putting me inside when I should have been on the golf course, or at the very least mowing the lawn.
So I turned the tube on while I was doing things on the computer. What's that? Oh, the phrase "turned the tube on" refers to the televisions of the last century, which actually had things called vacuum tubes, and the screen itself was a tube of sorts. Sorry, but I'm an old guy.
Back to baseball. I've written before how I grew up eating and breathing baseball. It was an integral part of the first 20 or 30 years of my life.
But I gradually drifted away. I'm not sure if it was free agency, leading to players with no team loyalty, or steroids, leading to players with only a passing resemblance to the rest of the human race.
Actually, I think I succumbed at least a little to the ever-decreasing attention span of our modern world. Baseball was invented in a time when people were looking for something to do on a warm afternoon, and it was okay that a game took two or three hours. It was even okay that the action came in little spurts, with long pauses in between.
Sounds pretty good right about now, doesn't it?
Enough nostalgia. I was talking about last weekend.
There was plenty of Major League Baseball on the tube last weekend — but no Dodgers, at least at my house. For the last decade or three, I haven't cared much about the MLB, at least until the playoffs and World Series. There just didn't seem to be enough time.
Ironically, Denver got a Major League team the year I left Colorado for sunny Southern California. I never really connected to either the Dodgers or the Angels, although I loved the Dodgers' history.
Long story short, the pros dropped off my radar. And I didn't have a baseball-aged son, so the Little League mania out here pretty much passed me by.
Then there were the Dirtbags. I was fascinated by a top-echelon college baseball program pretty much right in my backyard. Even better, I had this little plastic thing called a press pass that let me attend games for free.
Even so, I only caught a few in those first few years. Just not enough time, I told myself.
Then, for a number of years the Dirtbags were, to put it kindly, not real good. To be sure, they remained competitive, and if I had been a real fan, I would have hung in.
But Blair Field didn't see me more than once a year for quite a while. Bad on me.
I didn't get to a game this year, either. Same excuses.
I should have known better. Last year, I watched the Dirtbags on television as they gave the No. 1 team in the country a scare at the NCAA regionals. And this year, the fabled Dirtbags pitching returned with a vengeance, and was joined by a stronger than usual 1 through 9 hitting lineup.
Last weekend's baseball on television? The best game I saw was the Dirtbags finishing the regular season at arch-rival Cal State Fullerton, putting a run together in the bottom of the eighth and winning 1-0.
This weekend, it will be baseball at Blair. Long Beach finally gets to host another regional. Yeah, they'll be on television, but that's not where you'll get the real feel of baseball the way it should be played.
I'll be there. And I'd recommend that you come join me. You won't be sorry.