My Love Letter To Baseball On Opening Weekend
As America's National Pastime returns, I get emotional, heartfelt and sentimental about what the greatest game on the planet means to me...

Editor’s Note - I wanted to put something special together to mark what is a truly special weekend for so many in America. So, as Major League Baseball returns, here is my love letter to the sport that has given, and continues to give, me so, so, much…
I didn’t grow up loving you. I didn’t grow up watching you. Heck, I grew up not knowing you even existed.
See, unlike the vast majority of your devoted fans, I wasn’t born in America where the National Pastime is a cherished way of life.
No, I was born and raised in England where soccer, cricket and rugby reigned supreme. Unlike Rogers Hornsby, I didn’t spend my winters staring out the window, waiting for spring and a new baseball season to arrive.
I wouldn’t have known what a baseball bat looked like, let alone have the chance to pick one up and swing it on a pristine Little League diamond while furiously grinding my way through a delicious pack of Big League Chew.
By virtue of being born in a foreign land a thousand miles away, I was robbed of the opportunity to spend hours swinging a bat or playing catch in the backyard pretending to be Derek Jeter, Ken Griffey Jr. or Mike Piazza.
I was denied the chance to grow up enchanted by your lovable charm, to feel the unbeatable joy of watching a baseball leave the park and disappear in the majestic summer night sky, or to marvel at the mythical beauty of a perfect game (an even rarer relic in the modern game). I even missed out on discovering the wonder of a perfectly topped hot dog.
My childhood was missing something. I just didn’t know it at the time.
But, then, just like that, you entered my life. And I remember it like yesterday.
I was at my Grandparents’ house, skipping school (I hope my folks aren’t reading this), trying to absorb hockey highlights on SportsCenter when I caught a glimpse of you for the very first time. I didn’t know what I was watching, but I knew I couldn’t look away. And not in the same way in which you can’t help but stare as at a car wreck as you drive past, but rather in the way you would stop and stare if you went back in time and got the opportunity to watch Pablo Picasso paint one of his masterpieces.
Our love was a slow burn at first. It wasn’t a fall head-over-heels, obsess over each other kind of love affair. We’d check in with each other here and there, testing one another out without ever really making a true commitment to each other. It was probably a long-distance relationship at best.
However, everything changed when I saw those gorgeous, alluring orange and blue Mets uniforms for the first time. I felt a seismic shift in everything I had ever known as soon as I saw David Wright execute a hustle play, Daniel Murphy hit a bomb and Matt Harvey’s brilliance on the mound.
Just like that, I was a Mets fan.
And you had captured my heart for good.
What had once been an on-and-off dalliance soon morphed into a full-blown love story for the ages. You whisked me off my feet and our love has just grown stronger as the years have passed.
That love only intensified after I attended my first Mets game in person back in 2017. Yes, the Amazins’ were blown out by the Pirates - yes, the Pirates - in the two games I was at and, yes, my brother, who made the trip with me, still tells me to this day that I should have been a Yankees fan.
But I firmly believe that teams choose you, not the other way round. The Mets chose me, and I’ll be forever grateful for that.
And, no matter how many Mets losses I’ve suffered through over the years, no matter how many crushing blows I’ve been forced to absorb, those devastating lows have only made the euphoric highs feel even sweeter. I will never forget the feeling of pure joy I had when I heard that Juan Soto was a Met. And I will forever hold on tight to the memory of being at Keith Hernandez’s jersey retirement a couple of years ago, watching grown men cry and embrace each other as memories of their childhood spent watching No. 17 put on a defensive masterclass while helping the Mets win a World Series all came flooding back.
I’ve been blessed to experience a plethora of incredible days out at Citi Field over the years. Is there anything better than being sat in the sun, armed with a scorecard, an icy cold beer and a delicious bag of nuts or a succulent hot dog covered in ketchup and mustard? I think not. The very definition of heaven.
Despite my very clear allegiance to the blue and orange, I’ve also enjoyed the odd day out in the bleachers at Yankee Stadium. I fondly recall a trip to the Bronx on a baking hot July Sunday to watch the Yankees take on hated rivals the Red Sox. Now that was a pretty damn good day.
While we’re talking about the Red Sox, I am still in awe years after once partaking in a tour of historic Fenway Park. The sights, the sounds and the very clear, very distinct whiff of history still stick with me today. And that’s one of my many favorite things about you - the deep, rich history and tradition of a game that is buried deep in the fabric of America.
I wasn’t just content with watching and loving you, however. I wanted to write about you as well. Writing about sports has always been my passion, my true calling in life and my gut just told me that, despite not knowing it previously, I was actually born to write about baseball.
So, I took that leap of faith and set about leaving the life I had built in England in order to fulfill what I deeply believed was my true calling in life.
It hasn’t always been easy, and I had to pick myself back up and dust off the dirt more than I care to admit, but constructing a career based on writing and talking about the sport I love more than anything has been the best decision I’ve ever made.
I haven’t looked back, and you’ve been there for me every single step of the way.

With an exhilarating Opening Day now in the books, but the rest of a glorious Opening Weekend still out in front of us, it feels apt to express how much you have meant to me over the last several years, and especially how much you mean to me today as I write this.
You have been right there by side as I’ve battled some health issues over the past couple of years. You’ve been a stabling presence when everything else around me has felt so flimsy and so insecure.
When I’ve needed you the most to help take my mind off the fact that we live in an absolute dumpster fire, you’ve been there. Every single time.
With the world around us seemingly on fire, your consistency, rhythms and the comfy routine that you offer feel especially sacred.
That was at the forefront of my mind as I prepared to indulge in another Opening Day, and my third as a baseball writer. Something, by the way, that I will never, ever take for granted.
I will always feel incredibly lucky to get to write about this beautiful game - you - for a living.
For the next several months, from now until November, I feel safe, secure and contented in the knowledge that there will be games to watch and write about every single day without fail.
Isn’t that wonderful?
Even after a mouthwatering slate of 14 games on Opening Day, we still have over 2,400 games left to focus on and lose ourselves in, shutting off the outside noise and forgetting about the chaos if only for just a few hours. But what a beautiful, joyful, comfort-inducing few hours those will be each and every single time.
And I’m beyond pumped to have you - and the tangible feeling of hope that is ever-present this time of year - back in my life every single day for the next seven months.
Hope is eternal this time of year. Fans will wake up today believing that this could be the year their beloved team make all of their dreams come true. Pitchers will be arriving at the ballpark confident that this is the year they could rack up 200 batters. And hitters will dream of hitting over .300 and crushing 40 home runs.
Hope is at its highest this time of year.
All I was feeling was hope and excitement on Opening Day as I watched some of the best in Paul Skenes, Shohei Ohtani, Aaron Judge, Elly De La Cruz, Bobby Witt Jr., Juan Soto, Tarik Skubal, Mookie Betts, Freddie Freeman and so many more all return to our lives in a meaningful way.
Plus, in what other sport can a guy go from stacking shelves at a local Whole Foods to making the Opening Day roster, realizing all of their dreams and years and years of hard work in the process? Hayden Senger of the Mets is further proof of just how wonderfully unique a game you really are. Baseball is where childhood dreams come to life, more so than in any other sport. I love you for that.
And, once again, I was reminded why I really need to invest in a bunch of different screens for when baseball season arrives. My eyes were darting in a million different directions as I tried to keep up with all of the magical things unfolding throughout Opening Day.
Then, sad once the final pitch had been thrown in the final game of the day, I was quickly reminded that you aren’t going anywhere soon for a long time. You will be a daily constant in my life for the foreseeable. You will form the backbone of my daily routine from now until the cold winter air begins to trickle back in.
That’s beyond comforting.
As is knowing that I can return to a beloved tradition of scanning box scores every single morning with a steaming hot cup of delicious coffee. It’s the small things in life that really matter, after all.
So, while I have no clue what is going to unfold over the next several months - although I am very confident the Dodgers will be great - I do know that I will cherish the chance to get to watch baseball every single day. And, on this weekend full of hope, excitement and endless possibilities, I promise to not take you for granted this year.
I heard once that once baseball has you, it has you for life. And it is so true. I wasn’t born in America and I didn’t grow up loving you. But I certainly love you now, and I know that will always be the case. And, throughout Opening Weekend as I consume hours upon hours of the best game on the planet, I won’t forget how lucky I am to have found you and to have you as such a central part of my life.
How can you not be romantic about baseball?
Thank you, always.
Andrew
Beautiful piece Andrew! "God Bless all of you, and God bless this wonderful game, they call baseball" ~ Phil Rizzuto
A beautiful and poetic tribute to an amazing game and a way of life for months to come. Thanks for sharing your heartfelt sentiments that shined throughout your love letter.