The end of January is about the time when I start to become giddy. The more I look at a calendar, with every day passing to the next, the excitement builds to a point where I just can hardly contain myself.

But when March comes around, all my bottled-up joy explodes like a shaken can of soda. That’s because, you may already have guessed it: Baseball season is here.

I realize I may be jumping the gun a little bit, and this isn’t meant to offend anyone who enjoys winter and the sports associated with it, but I grew up a baseball fan. I hate the rain and love to be outdoors. Baseball fits both those requirements.

I remember when I was in junior high in Ione, and I was on the track team during the spring because Babe Ruth baseball (which I had to play in Heppner) didn’t begin until school was out. In my locker at school, I had a countdown to when our first practice was going to be.

Baseball is something I always have enjoyed, no matter what level it is or who is playing. It just doesn’t matter if it’s Little League, Babe Ruth, high school, American Legion or the minors or pros, I’ll stop for just about anything.

Sometimes I ask myself why I do this, though. I mean, if anyone wants to label it an “addiction,” they could. Living without baseball for me would be like a bird not having a tree to nest in, seriously.

But when I think why I love baseball so much, it’s from the all the good memories the game has given me. From my dad and uncles teaching me how to play the game, to my high school days playing for Heppner, baseball has been as much a part of my life as my family has.

Like most parents, my dad helped coach the team I was on when I was 10. But after that year was over, he chose not to anymore. He always told me, “I’d rather watch you play than be your coach,” and that never really made sense to me until later on.

If he was coaching, he obviously was there, so why wouldn’t he be watching? So goes the logic of a 10 year-old.

My dad wanted to watch me play and enjoy it, and not have to worry about anything else, other than how I was doing that day (don’t all dads worry about that, though?). He would come to practices every now and then to help with drills or fill in when one of the coaches couldn’t make it, but he never set foot in the dugout on game day. That was just his choice, and to be honest, I’m glad he did it.

We were able to talk about the game afterward and really figure out what I needed to work on and become the best I could be, because that’s what I wanted. And that’s really important as well. I played because I wanted to, not because my dad was trying to live his life precariously through my own. I played baseball because I had fun, like every kid should.

That’s where all the memories originate, from having fun. There wasn’t a second in my life where I didn’t want to be out on the baseball field during practice or a game. I was having way too much fun. I mean, what’s the point if you aren’t having any fun? Especially when you’re a kid.

From buying my first baseball glove (it was blue and had a Barry Bonds signature on the palm; I wish I knew what he would have turned out to be when I was 9), to suiting up for the varsity team my freshman year, it was all because I wanted to and my parents were there to support me.

Even the smells get to me. I know, it might sound a little strange, but the smell of the grass when someone just mowed the lawn? That makes me think of baseball. The smell of the forest even makes me think of baseball. I put pine tar on the handle of my bat so it wouldn’t fly out of my hands. And yes, of course, even the smell of hot dogs makes me think of baseball.

There’s no more of a staple food associated to a sport than hot dogs are to baseball.

Pretty soon, Hermiston High School’s Weber Field and the Field of Dreams complex on Diagonal Boulevard, along with all the other baseball diamonds in the area, will be packed with loyal fans, dedicated players, mothers who are wondering what will remove the grass stain from a uniforms and fathers trying to get the dirt and Gatorade stains out of the back seat of the car.

Those dedicated players, sometimes wearing their hats on two sizes too big so they can emulate their favorite professional player, are not only learning how to play a game, but are learning life’s valuable lessons I think sports can teach the best.

Teamwork, trust, persistency and sportsmanship are just some of the skills sports can teach children. To be successful in life, and have fun, those are vital to learn.

With Little League and Babe Ruth baseball leagues starting in the not-so-distant future, think about what your kids or other kids take away from summers out on the baseball diamond. There’s no need to pressure them into doing something they don’t want to. If they want to play, then let them. If they don’t, they will find their own ways of creating those everlasting memories baseball, and athletics in general, gave me. Because, after all, memories never age.

Billy Gates is the sports reporter/photographer for the Hermiston Herald. He can be reached at the Herald office at 564-4542 or by e-mail at bgates@hermistonherald.com.