On August 12, 1994 major league baseball players went on strike. When the players went on strike, so did I. Over the years I softened my stance somewhat, but still hadn’t crossed my own picket line more than a few times prior to 2017 (amazingly the Bartman game was one of those times, though I swear I was in no way responsible for the result).

So 2017 was a breakout year for me. For the first time in over 25 years I went to a spring training game, actually three games. A week in Arizona in March seemed like a good idea (though it had been warm enough in Chicago in February to play golf four days in a row).

All the games we went to were day games. They don’t seem to play night games in spring training in Arizona, which I don’t understand, given that one could play golf during the day, while there is absolutely nothing to do in Arizona in the evening. The one day that our seats were in the sun, we spent most of the game in the shade by the first baseline bar watching the game on TV. Not sure that was worth a three and a half hour flight.

Closer to home, 2017 marked my first time at Wrigley Rooftops. Unfortunately, I’m not too fond of heights. Fortunately, it was early in the season, and very cold, so I spent about five seconds outside watching the game and the rest of the time safely inside, warm, watching on tv, and scrounging for food and drink, until I left in the sixth inning.

The final lap of my 2017 baseball rebirth was a Cardinal game in St. Louis when I was there for a conference. I don’t expect to go to many games in the future, though the nerd in me would consider an opportunity to add another park to my resume (having attended games in 13 major league parks to date despite my prolonged absence from the fray), and an invitation to watch a game from a luxury suite with a dessert bar is always tempting.