From my earliest memories of being with my parents and listing off the starting lineup for the 1987 World Champion Minnesota Twins, I have been a full-fledged member of America’s love affair with baseball. But how is it that this seemingly boring game captures the imaginations of millions, enthralling them for months at a time?

In an era of flashy talents like LeBron James and inhuman 350 pound offensive linemen, what is it that we love so much about a sport in which a pitcher can throw a perfect game while “half-drunk,” as David Wells claims he did against my beloved Minnesota Twins?

First, the intricate nature of the game. To the casual fan, as Tim Robbins’ character in “Bull Durham” said, “[Baseball] is a very simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball.” But things like shading the fielders, wasting an 0-2 pitch, moving the runner over, bringing a lefty in to face a lefty, watching a pitcher save a run by backing up home or actually seeing a suicide squeeze live are all lost on the non-discerning fan.

This is why baseball may be the one sport you have to have played to truly understand it. The intricacies involved are such that the casual fan – who’s used to the constant excitement of football, basketball and hockey – finds it boring. The rules of baseball can be learned by some, but for the rest of us who’ve played, we know it’s tough to explain that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach the moment you realize you’ve been picked-off or the beauty in a sacrifice bunt.

And second: the memories we associate with it… Being a Twins and Cubs fan (go ahead and hate me doubly White Sox fans), my memories of baseball almost always include my dad. He took me on long road trips in which we’d drive to Chicago to watch a Cubs series at Wrigley and then catch a Twins-Brewers series at Milwaukee County Stadium. While at one Cubs game, we stumbled across Harry Carey, cocktail in hand, hours before first pitch. He signed a Budweiser advertisement I had.

And, in perhaps the favorite memory I have of my childhood, I watched at home as the late Kirby Puckett hit a walk-off homerun in the bottom of the 11th inning in game 6 of the 1991 World Series, forcing a game 7 and leading to Jack Buck’s famous call, “And we’ll see you, tomorrow night!”

The next night, I did see them. My parents had three tickets to game 7 and brought me along. And at game 7, while waving my “Homer Hanky,” I saw the most dominating sports performance I ever have. Jack Morris pitched 10 innings of shutout baseball, repeatedly telling manager Tom Kelly he wouldn’t leave the game. The Twins won 1-0 in the 10th inning on a walk-off hit. Greatest World Series ever.

So what is it about baseball? I think America’s love affair with baseball boils down the beauty of simplicity: sunflower seeds, double headers, the hanging curveball, Johan Santana’s change-up, suicide squeezes, tailgating, Wrigley Field, 162 game season, switch hitters, the seventh inning stretch, Joe Mauer, playing catch with dad in the parking lot before the game, the wildcard, on base percentage, dugouts, infield chatter, the hot corner, pepper, Texas-leaguer singles, rosin bags, no-hitters, complete games, hit and runs, town ball, and strike-him-out-throw-him-outs. What’s more American than that?

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