MY LIFE WITH BRITTLE BONES-4

The following season my dream came true. It was my first game, one of many to come. I prayed that nothing would happen to mess it up. I had fractured the morning of an Eagles-Vikings football game we were planning on attending together. Instead of football I spent my Sunday afternoon at CHOP.

God was on our side that spring as I stayed healthy enough to attend my first game. My beloved Phillies were playing the dreaded Los Angeles Dodgers that Sunday in May. It was a hot ticket as the Dodgers had a great team, led by the Hall of Fame pitching duo of Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale. David vs Goliath. I hoped the Phils would put up a good fight, but I was there, that's all that mattered (OK- winning mattered too).

My heart pounded as we approached  Connie Mack Stadium. Usually the only experience I had with Philadelphia was for a hospital visit, so it was nice to be in the city for some fun instead. The huge light towers of Connie Mack drew closer as the stadium came into view. We had a brief panic when we thought we forgot the tickets, but all was well when I found them in my pocket ( I insisted on holding the tickets to prove this was really happening).

Dad carried me as he  walked up to the stadium gates. I peered inside and could see the parrot green grass of the outfield. I could smell the sweet aroma of hot dogs, peanuts and onions. The buzz of the crowd, the yells of "Get yer program here!" from vendors, the excitement all around me- so different from TV or the radio.

Inside the stadium I couldn't get over it. To my surprise we descended down the steps..and kept going and going until we reached the field level. Dad had somehow secured  box seats for us, right next to the Phillies dugout on the third base side of the field.

I took it all in as everything was in front of me: the players, the enormous grandstand, the field. Everything was in color. Back in those days our televisions were still black and white. The vibrant colors amazed me, from the vivid red  Philkies' caps to the blueness of the Dodgers' jackets.. 

It was  a perfect, warm Sunday in late May, the sky so blue, the sunshine so toasty and the slight breeze so fresh and soft. I closely watched the players, both Koufax and Drysdale right there, literally yards away, almost close enough to touch. Some of the Dodgers were walking to the bullpen area down the line before the game started, passing by us. This was all so great. I was  a happy camper then, but what would happen next was something I would remember forever.

Suddenly, out of the Phillies dugout popped the familiar number seven, Bobby Wine himself. He walked over to our box, said hello and shook my hand. He autographed a ball and a photo card as we chatted for several moments. I have no idea what we talked about but it didn't matter. I got a chance to touch his glove, that same glove where countless baseballs came to rest. It was like  touching Babe Ruth's bat.

Bobby said he would try to get a hit for me ( I didn't ask). He actually got two hits - and the Phillies  beat the mighty Dodgers that  day. 

Baseball came into my life again later that summer. My Uncle Joey lived in Atlanta, Georgia at the time and knew some people in the Braves organization. They found out about my illness and sent me a bunch of stuff in the mail: signed baseballs, yearbooks, stickers, plus a warm get-well letter. 

Soon, for the next few weeks, I was receiving packages almost daily from different teams. I remember how exciting it was each day, Mom bringing in the mail and holding another envelope or box, with the return address and logo of the Pirates, Cardinals or Yankees on the front. 

The St. Louis Cardinals sent the most, although they were all kind enough to think of me. The Cards not only sent many signed photos but their manager wrote a personal letter, on Cardinals stationary, and said the whole team was praying for me.

Ironically, our next-door neighbor was a big Cards fan, and even before this act of kindness, he would tease me about being a Phillies fan, I finally had to admit that the Redbirds weren't so bad after all.

The point is, things like that kept me going. Not only did these baseball mementos cheer me up, I was blessed that people out in the world were thinking about me. It gave me something to look forward to and the feeling that I wasn't alone. When you're sick like I was, you need positive things in your life to keep you smiling through the tough times.  It was much more than autographed baseballs or stickers. People cared.

I cringe when i hear an athlete refuses to sign an autograpgh, especially for kids.  They have no clue  how good it makes someone feel by just signing your name. Sometimes little things can mean so much.