Farewell to a Fallen Comrade

I have a confession. I am not the most graceful person in the world. In fact, balance in general has always been something I have struggled with. This is why I walk like an old woman in the winter, with my back hunched over and my eyes glued to the ground, watching my small, shuffling steps. One of my most embarrassing moments involves ninth grade, flip-flops, rain, and a large set of outside concrete stairs. You can only imagine the humiliation.

Over Spring Break, I took a cruise to Mexico with 15 people I am quite fond of. I made new friends and, as a whole, had a wonderful experience. However, there was a casualty on my trip.

Cabo San Lucas. Gorgeous day of 80 degree weather. We decided to head out to Lover's Beach. You need to take a water taxi to get to the beach.

Lover's Beach

A bunch of us decided to take a tour around the beach, which was beautiful. There were interesting rock formations, sea lions and crazy waves. After taking pictures and mimicking sea lions, we headed to the beach. I now had to get out of the water taxi. Remember, I have no balance (Case in point: the day before I had fallen on another beach getting into a water taxi. Wet jeans are no fun). The boys were helping us out into the shallow water. I had the brief thought that I should hand my bag to someone while I hopped out. I dismissed the idea, took Porter's hand for assistance, and jumped.

And landed fine.

And then fell over.

While I was holding my bag.

With my iPod inside.

And my camera.

And now they are ruined.

Imagine me jumping and falling

Eric has told me many times how funny it was to watch. I agree, it is funny. I've had to learn to laugh at myself and not dwell on how stupid I look. C'est la vie.

I'm wearing a green shirt in this picture.

I'm behind other people so you really can't see me.

And I'm pretty okay with that.

The other sports are just sports. Baseball is a love.

29 days. Not that I'm counting or anything, but that is the amount of days until the beginning of the Major League Baseball season. One month until the first official games. I promise I'm only a bit obsessive.

Baseball is part of my life blood. From April to October every year, an irrational feeling runs through my body. Everything I do will somehow affect the team located 1,869 miles from where I currently sit. I cannot house a negative thought in my mind because it will somehow affect the Atlanta Braves and how they play ball. It's completely absurd to think that not knocking on wood will affect something I have no control over, but I am a special soul sometimes.

I have always been destined to be an ardent fan:

Both of my parents grew up watching and loving baseball. Strike one.

When my parents first got married, TBS showed Braves games almost every day. The love affair with the Braves began. Strike two.

Here's the kicker: when my mother was nearly 9 months pregnant with me, the parents drove from Utah to San Diego to see the Braves play. Strike three.

This road trip was all designed to meet one man, the exceptional Dale Murphy.

Two-time National League MVP and all-around kick awesome person Dale Murphy. My namesake. And one of the reasons I will always be connected to baseball (My parents did meet him, but my mother forgot the camera in the car. Thankfully, 16 years later they were able to meet him again and actually take a picture. It's on our fridge).

The season is quickly approaching. Spring training has started and rosters are being determined. And I will be here in Logan, Utah, constantly checking scores, news and trade rumors. Because baseball always has been and always will be part of my life.