My first memories of watching baseball are from the 1996 postseason. I was 8 years old.
In my house, the games would be on the TV in the living room. I would plop a sleeping bag in the middle of the floor in case I felt the urge to fall asleep, but the action on the television kept my heart racing a mile-a-minute. My dad, rarely sitting still, would pace back and forth often times having to step over me.
The voices of Joe Buck and Tim McCarver that echoed throughout my house talked about Joe Torre finally reaching the World Series after a lifetime of regular season games and a young – but poised – shortstop named Derek Jeter.