As I get older, a lot of memories start to become “generic.” By that, I mean that I remember attending assemblies in elementary school, but not necessarily specific ones. But one I do remember sparked a life-long love affair with minor league baseball.
 
We had just watched a Phillies “season in review” film in the “All-Purpose Room” — part cafeteria, part assembly hall with stage, part gym — when the “Sillie Phillie” emerged from behind the screen. He was some sort of red, Phanatic-like creation that served as the mascot for the Reading Phillies. My relationship with the Sillie Phillie soured over the years until his retirement, but he gave me a gift that day I’ll never forget: complimentary tickets.
 
Google says it is about a 35-minute drive from the house I grew up in to Reading Municipal Stadium — that seems generous, I’d wager 45 minutes — but Dad went for it.
 
The stadium was a lot different in the 80s than it is today. No picnic area, no left field deck, certainly no right field swimming pool. Just bleachers, and old guy with a sound machine on the third base side and lucky numbers in your program redeemable at the souvenir stand. And, of course, the game.
 
By the time I could drive, my buddies and I would take in several a week. Along the way, I got to see some good players come through town. Juan Samuel. Marvin Freeman. Bruce Ruffin. Darren Daulton. Pat Burrell. Micky Morandini. Ricky Botalico. The legendary Steve Jeltz. So many of the names Phillies fans remember for ‘93 and ‘08.
 
Big leaguers on rehab assignments, too. Gary Redus. Bo Diaz. Tom Foley. John Kruk. And some names you likely don’t know. Tommy Barrett (Marty’s brother). Mike Maddux (Greg’s brother – note a pattern?) Jimmy Olander. Steve DeAngelis. Rick Lundblade. Greg Legg. Francisco Melendez. Bruce Dostal. And far, far too many “can’t miss” prospects who, well… missed.
 
And they were all accessible. Kids could meet their heroes. Run the bases. Get an autograph. And the chance of snagging a foul ball was a lot better than at a 70,000-seat cookie-cutter stadium.
 
Through the years, stadium conditions improved. The “minor league experience” became a family affair, and that’s understandable. In my youth I could grab cheap tickets to see a big-league game at a moment’s notice. Today, a family of four can expect to conservatively spend $200 to attend a major league game. Minor league baseball is affordable entertainment, and it’s a lot easier to leave when the kids acted up by the fourth inning when it didn’t cost you half a paycheck to get there.
 
Since leaving southeastern Pennsylvania, I miss AA ball. It’s a great level to watch. Players are still hungry but haven’t been spoiled by too much success. But I’ve come around to A ball as well. Frederick always put on a nice experience. But the real gem, if you long for “old-time baseball,” was in Hagerstown. The Suns played in one of the oldest stadiums in the minors, and though modernized through the years, it still provided that game experience I remembered from so many years ago in Reading. 
 
Even before the current economic crisis, the “Sword of Damocles” hung over the team on an annual basis as ownership tried to force the town into constructing new, fancy digs. So, I made it a point to always savor my experience there, watching the game the way it used to be. A time before mascot teams, elaborate contests every half inning and way too much disco fan dancing.
 
When word emerged last year that the end of the current agreement between MLB and MiLB would likely result in contraction of teams, even an eternal optimist would realize the end was nigh for baseball in Hagerstown.
 
The suits would argue the financial outlook was difficult before COVID-19 ash-canned the 2020 minor league season, and we are yet to know what happens this spring. But considering this plan was on the table pre-COVID, one has to wonder at some of the motivation behind those decisions. 
 
Hagerstown is now gone, and Frederick is dropping from A ball to a draft prospect league. That makes the nearest pro minor league team roughly 60 miles away, ironically, a comparable distance to Baltimore or Washington. That seems a little convenient. After all, if you are going to travel that far, you might as well shell out for the major league experience, right?
 
What isn’t convenient is the cost and the ordeal a family has to go through to attend a major league game. The unfortunate truth is a lot of families are going to lose out on a great family experience and more kids are likely to miss out on live baseball.
 
I’m old enough that I still think of baseball as “the game.” I have great memories of sitting next to my Grandpop on the back stoop or at the kitchen table in Philadelphia, listening to Harry Kalas and Richie Ashburn on the transistor radio, but it was those countless games sitting in Reading watching future Phils with my Dad and my friends that really cemented my love of baseball.
 
As baseball continues to struggle with its relevance with the younger generations who flock to basketball and football, I think it will look back on some of these decisions with regret.
 
I know I will.

​I spotted an article the other day where someone lamented the quickest way to shut down a discussion on the pandemic was to refer to “the new normal.”
 
How true, though I would argue “out of an abundance of caution” is a close second.
 
Any way you slice it, we are tired. Just how tired likely depends on where you live and how close to home COVID-19 has hit.
 
Here in West Virginia, we began to reopen the economy in late spring. Many were apprehensive, but it went fairly smoothly. I’m not a big fan of Gov. Jim Justice, but I do think his handling of the crisis has been above average. Right down to “F****** follow the guidelines.”
 
I am no denier. I am a firm believer in the science. And, while many were not personally touched by this thing in the early days, within my six degrees of separation, I was. It’s a lot easier to accept that something is dangerous if it touches your life, so I can understand, even if I can’t condone, those who thought it was overblown.
 
I’d like to think that I was a lot more proactive about COVID-19 safety than some. But I also felt we needed to get businesses as open as possible to preserve our livelihoods. So, we supported local businesses, and when restrictions eased, we took daytrips and weekend trips. I’m sure some may have disagreed with that decision, but you have to do what is right for you. 
 
That’s an easy decision if the only person you put at risk is yourself, but that is not the nature of this deal. With COVID-19, you can be a spreader without even being aware of it. That’s why wearing a mask is such a simple thing for me to accept. I believe in personal freedom, but to borrow from Stan Lee, it comes great personal responsibility. That mask is a small price to pay to open things back up.
 
There is a certain irony to the fact that, just as some very promising vaccines are on their way, we are seeing a dangerous surge. Even in my own circle, the sickness and death are hitting a lot closer to home. Perhaps you have witnessed that, too. Contrary to popular belief that this thing would “just go away,” perhaps specifically on Nov. 4, numbers are shooting up, hospitals are feeling the brunt and some states are locking back down.
 
We are a resilient people, we Americans. Even though it went against the fabric of “who we are,” we, for the most part, accepted that first round of sheltering in place. It was our “public duty,” a sacrifice to relieve the pressure on our front-line workers until we got things under control. We didn’t like it, we complained about it, but we accepted to the best degree we were able the cancellation of school events, graduations, weddings, vacations, sports and so many other things.
 
But, when it comes to public trust, our nation’s governors had limited credit to spend. That has been used up, particularly in states like New York and Pennsylvania, which took far longer to ease restrictions. Even in California, as businesses are forced to close again, and people are told they can’t even socialize outside — masked — at a distance, people are asking, “why?” They are beginning to say, “no.” 
 
And as numbers surge and businesses are forced to shutter again, our folks in Washington would rather play political games than reach consensus on aid. Fiddling, while Rome burns.
 
We are tired. Thanksgiving was an impossible ask. Christmas? Who are we even kidding? Nothing about this is “normal.” 
 
Do what you are going to do, but now is not the time to let our guard down. To that end, here are a few wishes on my Christmas list:
 

• Wear a mask, even if you question the effectiveness.
• Don’t take out your anger on others.
• Get tested if you have symptoms.
• Take yourself out of circulation if you test positive or if you fear you might have been exposed.

This is a season that is supposed to be about kindness for our fellows. Embody that spirit.  
 
We are all tired. Fighting this thing until it is in retreat gets us back to normal. Wishful thinking and denial do not.