As you became a miniature sized fan of the sport, I did too. Only I'm not miniature sized, I'm a big person. I had always loved baseball. Going to Mets, Yankees and Twins games as a kid, Brewers and Dodgers games as an adult. The simplicity and pace of the sport, the hot dogs and the peanuts and the ice cream in the little helmets and the beer. But this season I really didn't have a choice... fate had it that I was going to watch every single Yankee game with you and your dad. And suddenly, I knew a lot more about the sport than I ever thought I would. Ask me what a sac fly is, or an unassisted triple play. Ask me who sings "God Bless America" in Yankee Stadium during the 7th inning stretch. What are boo birds? No seriously, what are they, no idea.
So I guess the purpose of this letter is to plead with you... please play baseball. If you choose football, I'll be one of those moms cheering when everyone else cheers with no real idea why. People have tried to explain that sport to me, and studying their hairline becomes more interesting than what it is they're saying. But if you choose baseball, I'll have the opportunity to become a psychotic mom fan... screaming at the umps and the coaches and the other mom's who are cheering with no real idea why. Isn't that every kid's dream? A mom who makes the evening news because her passion for her child's sport leads her to key another mom's car? I will be that mom for you, Jackson. You're welcome, son.