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.
