Today I left work at 6:01pm. I went to the grocery store, snacked on pita chips while cooking dinner, watched a few episodes of Law & Order and read an essay about Babor the Elephant and French society in a September New Yorker before settling in to watch the Phillies play in the word series.

Watching the game tonight reminded me of how into baseball I once was, and how on Saturday night I had no idea what game of the series it was. While attending Bayard Intermediate School (grades 4-6), I loved the Atlanta Braves. I had David Justice’s card hanging up on my wall, and the newbie Chipper Jones had stolen the spotlight. Later I come to find out that Chipper Jones wasn’t all that impressive, considering he had an affair with a hooter’s waitress, but at the time it didn’t matter to me – at 9-years-old, how could I really know what baseball players’ lives were like outside of the diamond? We didn’t have Google yet.

In 4th grade I was given an Atlanta Braves Starter jacket for Christmas, and I loved it. I felt so cool, a true fan. I walked proudly into class after the Christmas holiday to find that one of my classmates, Brad, had received the exact same gift. But not to worry, I had the almost-complete set of Upper Deck baseball cards.