Baseball is a funny game. There is no time limit; no avoiding the other team with trickery; and no other game that has an unofficially official food. A day of the ballpark brings with it sights and sounds unlike any other. Whether it’s the crack of a bat, thud of a mitt, or whizz of a ball, the nation’s pastime looms large in the souls of every man, woman, and child that is fortunate enough to have partaken in it.

So large, in fact, for those lucky souls that it becomes more than a game — it becomes a tradition. In America we revere tradition. No matter how much we try to escape tradition — especially tradition formed young — it never escapes our minds. It may sit in the back of one’s mind for years waiting for the moment of blissful recollection such as that of remembering your childhood dog. But it never dissipates, its.

That moment of blissful recollection happened for me these last couple weeks. I grew up going to Michigan baseball games. I’ve been to more than I can count. I still remember watching Zach Putnam dominate both at the plate and on the mound, Leif Mahler turning two at second, and Adam Abraham’s sensational plays in the hot corner. I still recall watching Patrick Biondi patrolling center field. I can still picture Alan Oaks blasting a David Price fastball ball over the left field wall. I still recall Derek VanBuskirk robbing a home run in the 2007 regional final, knocking off David Price and #1 Vanderbilt. I vividly remember the old Ray Fisher Stadium stands, and the deliciously greasy Blimpy burgers we’d get so often after.

Michigan baseball games were my dad and I’s refuge. Back when Saturday double-headers were still around, we’d pack up the car, drive two hours north and cheer vigorously for the university we cared so much about. Growing up a Michigan fan, even though I lived in Ohio, was not an option.

Having grown up a Wolverine fan and then attending U of M from ’84 to ’88, little else gets my dad jazzed like the university he holds dear. And so, every one of those games we attended is something he and I hold so dear. But, as life goes, things get in the way. I went off to college, he got busy with other family things, and what was once a tradition faded away — but it never left us.

So when Michigan baseball this year beat the #2 UCLA Bruins in March, we both flipped our attention back to the team we rooted on so much in years past, catching the occasional game on television or following the season on Twitter, we had an inkling this could be a special team. Sure enough, we were right.

Buttressed by the three-headed hydra of Karl Kauffman, Jeff Criswell, and Tommy Henry the team had more talent than we had seen in a long time, but it didn’t stop there. The eye-catching talent of Jordan Brewer smack of Ryan LaMarre. The reliability of Jordan Nwogu in the leadoff spot flashed of Pat Biondi. The toughness and consistency of Jack Blomgren struck me as that of Leif Mahler. The leadership (and home run shots) of Jimmy Kerr reminded me of Nate Recknagle. And that was just memories from my relatively short lifetime.

For my dad, the possibility of a College World Series elicited memories of those ’83 and ’84 teams that starred no less than Chris Sabo and Barry Larkin.

During the 2019 team’s postseason run, that childhood zeal I took to every U of M baseball game came flooding back. Hanging onto every pitch with baited-breath and a cold sweat, I watched this year’s team get past the hurdle I had never seen them jump before, and that my dad hadn’t seen since before he enrolled at the university.

In a sport owned by southern and western schools, Team 153 not only won the regional hosted by the defending national champion but also knocked off that same UCLA team they beat earlier in the year — except this time as the #1 overall seed. The closest team to the formerly Union Civil War states in this College World Series is Louisville, still some distance south of the Mason-Dixon line.

The team even provided an impeccable life lesson at the hands (and glove) of leftfielder Christian Bullock. Seemingly, the world came crashing down on the junior outfielder in the second game against UCLA. His dropped fly ball that would have gotten the Wolverines out of a massive jam led to a rally by the Bruins that eventually won them the game. Anyone who has played sports before has been in a similar situation, albeit probably not on that big a stage. But how one responds to adversity is tantamount to succeeding in life. And oh man did Bullock respond.

His leadoff triple in the top of the 9th led to a critical insurance run going into the bottom of the inning with the heart of the Bruin lineup coming up. We all know how that ended.

Indeed, this team is special.

It is that specialty which is sometimes required to rejuvenate the best of our traditions, to nudge us out of the ruts life find us in. Team 153 did that for me, and I cannot thank them enough for it. The ride is not over yet, but despite that, an exhilarating one it has been. Come Saturday, my dad and I will be watching — from states away, perhaps, but tuned in, nonetheless. After seeing the reactions on social media to the Sunday night victory, my guess is all of Wolverine nation will be too — thousands of people joining together in support of the team, the team, the team. Certainly, a tradition unlike any other.

Go Blue.

Excitedly,

An Ohio-born UM fan, stuck in Texas