ABOUT GHOSTS IN THE GRASS

There are really two halves to this project … this site. The first half is the novel I wrote called Ghosts in the Grass that I’ll be publishing over the course of 27 weeks. It tells the stories of three different people, while not aware of it at first, connected through one team over the course of one season through a series of vignettes…glimpses into what it’s like to be a fan of this game. This story is more than just about these three characters and the people around them, though. It is about the experience of the game of baseball. The experience of Spring Training, of being in a baseball stadium, of being intoxicated by this beautiful game. It is about the love of America’s Pastime and how it impacts all those around it, for better or for worse. While it may certainly be overly romantic about the game, and maybe even a bit naive, this story is born from my love and passion for this sport.

To jump right into the novel, start here.

The other half of this site/project (Warehouse Windows) is my story…my journey through baseball as a fan and as an employee of the New Jersey Cardinals, the Baltimore Orioles and the New York Mets. My relatively short time entrenched in the game was not always great and was not always perfect, but they were some of the best years of my life shared with some of the best people I have ever known. I thought it would be an interesting exercise to put those stories out as they relate to the story I wrote. Revealing my inspiration, basically.

I hope you enjoy it and, if you do, please share.

Top of the Seventh

By the time he got back to his desk, he could hardly breathe. His heart was pounding as he hoped it wasn’t too late! He took a moment to think back through what had happened the night before. After the game …

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The Pendleton Moment

It is a point in a game or a season when everything seems to be going great for your team; they have the lead and/or momentum, all the breaks are going their way and they just seem unbeatable. And then the Pendleton Moment happens, where something goes wrong, sometimes subtle, sometimes huge, and everything changes. Everything has swung back in the other direction and never returns.

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Bottom of the Sixth

She grew convinced that the team could do no harm. And while the team didn’t win the championship every year, when they did, the memory of a past failure was virtually erased. Her team fandom was born in the same heat that the crown was forged and it was all she knew. This is what she thought baseball was. Great pitching. A big hit. Another championship. Baseball.

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My Longest Day in Baseball

Some would be yelling before I even said hello, screaming angry and sometimes vile words at me while others would be more gentle as they seemed honestly confused as to what was going on with their team. The last time they witnessed a postseason game, Cal Ripken Jr. was catching an easy liner to clinch the World Series Championship 13 years before. It was an extremely long 13 years for this city that loved this team, but instead of excitement as they headed in, fans felt this mix of emotion regarding Alomar. And through the course of that long, slow blur of a day, I had heard every one of those emotions expressed to me on the phone.

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Middle of the Sixth

In that room were not just each and every memorable moment for the team, but, and maybe more importantly, it was all those moments that perhaps nobody remembers. A first pitch groundout to first in a July game 43 years ago with the team already leading by 10 runs. A long double off the left field wall that drove in three runs during a game that got rained out after two innings. Perhaps these were moments that some fan somewhere remembers in exact detail. And that was one of the things he loved … That room recorded every moment that every fan, alive and dead, remembered or doesn’t remember.

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Top of the Sixth

Winter stalks. Winter waits. Winter watches. It skulks in the dark corners of the game’s great Cathedrals, patiently awaiting its time … its moment. It will come when a team is least expecting it, pouncing from its hiding spot and attacking without mercy.

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