Riding Shotgun

Congrats, you’ve got the passenger seat to what could just be the greatest spectacle to ever hit the World Wide Web—aside from porn. I’ve been told that stuff is awesome. This could also very well turn into a tedious and possibly abandoned search for a holy grail, told in mind-numbing increments by a droll yet unpolished writer. Perhaps I should go ahead and claim the title of Blogger in order to sidestep the standards and objectivity associated with being a writer. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to share with you on this quest, but I’ve got some ideas. I hope to tell you about the ballparks visited, games seen, and cities experienced while on this little trip of Americana . That much is for sure. While I’m at it, I’ll probably throw in some anecdotes, ideas, and epiphanies that I experience along the way. I’m not above inciting a conversational debate amongst my reader(s) (Red Sox are the Best!), and generally will devolve into the Devil's Advocate during these debates (Yankees are the Best!). I’ll overuse commas and parenthesis, as well as start off too many sentences with “I.” The proper use of good and well will be closely monitored in order to keep my mother from calling me on the road to nag at me, although I’m sure she’ll find something regardless. Over the course of my trip, I will undoubtedly spend more money on Ice Cold Beer and fewer days waking up early and running than I would like, as if there were some sort of correlation between the two. I’m going to do my best to keep this thing up to date, and also try my hardest to keep it engaging and funny. Sometimes they simply aren’t going to happen. Don’t judge me. Above all, I’m going to live the Greatest American Dream since a farmer in Iowa carved a baseball diamond into his corn field.

Photo courtesy of Beyondhollywood.com

Is this Heaven? No, it’s the Ballpark Quest, and it starts this May.

Play Ball,

Colin

What is The Quest

The quest is a pilgrimage, taken by one man, in one car, in one summer, to every Major League Baseball stadium in America. It is a journey pestered by 30 destinations, in which I will seek to find the answers to the questions I don’t quite know yet. In this quest the reflections of the towns traversed and teams experience will be tallied here. The stadiums will be experienced; not judged, nor ranked, for the experience of baseball and of life. Like the game, it is so much more that just the game, and as such, these experiences will evolve from the tailgaters to the hot dogs, to the turf, to the bottom of a bottle of Bud Light. Or Coors Light. Maybe Miller Light. And Nachos, with extra jalepenos. Peanuts, cracker jack, Harry Carey, take me out to the ball game thirty times over, stretching thirty times more in a year than I ever have before, asking Blue which game he is watching, waiting as if I am expecting him to reply, scoring a game, talking through a game, arriving parking leaving with traffic traffic traffic, Canada, Boston, New York, Miami, LA, the accents, the fans, the boos the cheers, the cracks and the breezes of a ball well thrown. Sharing the expectations of every at bat with every fan, the wins and losses, the wait til next years and this is our years. Root root root for the home team, if they dont’ win, we still got to see feel and live the game. See Feel and Live Life. The quest is all these things and more. It is never to be spoken above a whisper, yet it will be typed from the mountaintops as a light on a hill, here for the entire world to hope, nearly as much as I am hoping, for the answers to the questions I haven’t figured out yet. And maybe enjoy some Ice Cold Beer and baseball along the way.

Play Ball,

Colin