As an awestruck eight-year-old, I jumped up and down in my bleacher seat at the Oakland Coliseum when brothers Jason and Jeremy Giambi of the Oakland Athletics each hit grand slams. My dad told me that they hit those grand slams for me, and as a näive little kid, I believed him. I was sure of it then (and now) that those Oakland A’s had accomplished such rarities because I was in the stands cheering them on. From that moment on, I knew that baseball was the greatest game in the world.

A few years later, when I couldn’t find my beloved Jason Giambi jersey, I was at a loss. Shortly after that, my heart broke even further when Jason Giambi was traded to the New York Yankees. Even without my favorite Oakland Athletics first baseman, baseball was still thrilling when I went to games with my dad and we munched on peanuts under the beating sun.

But as I grew older, I stopped going to games and my enthusiasm began to wane. Without even realizing it, baseball took a backseat to homework, band and even my obsession with 90’s boy band *NSYNC. I rarely watched baseball on TV, much less went to a stadium to watch it. I had lost my love of baseball.

After years with scarce mention of baseball, in eighth grade I was given an opportunity to go running back to the diamond when my middle school symphonic band was invited to play the national anthem at a San Francisco Giants game at AT&T Park. After memorizing The Star Spangled Banner on my trombone and blaring it to the thousands of fans from the middle of centerfield, I watched Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum’s 4-2 win over the Houston Astros that breezy May night with my family and friends. The game and the atmosphere at the stadium left me enthralled with baseball once again.

In the summer of 2005 my clothes constantly smelled of infield dirt and sun block, as I started playing softball, which quickly became a staple in my life. But to my dismay I did not make Lowell’s varsity team during my freshman year, and instead started paddling for Lowell’s dragon boat team. Skimming the water of Lake Merced with my paddle and moving in sync with 19 other paddlers was new and refreshing, but still I longed to catch fly-balls and field grounders.

I owe a huge thanks to a friend for convincing me to try out again the next year. Seeing my name on the 2009 softball team roster sophomore year sent me to cloud nine. After a year deprived of softball, I quickly saw how much I missed baseball and playing its female equivalent.

After making the team, I play practically year-round. I love softball more than ever. I was fascinated as I learned the mechanics of swinging a bat and the way that a fielder should step on a base for a force out, as well as how each play is executed, from first-and-third plays to squeeze plays. Rather than just being the screaming fan I was during my childhood, I was a softball player and felt a stronger connection to the game because of it. I can identify with the shock of losing a game or the pang of pain one feels in their gut when a ball is overthrown into the outfield. Of course, I only know a fraction of the intensity that college and major leaguers feel during a game, but being an athlete, I’ve gained a greater appreciation for what they do.

Nowadays I pay attention to season games, pennant races and the World Series. I have favorite teams and players, such as Philadelphia Phillies second baseman Chase Utley, the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland A’s, as the bright red baseball collage posted on my bedroom wall and various shirts and sweatshirts show. I’ll stay until the end of any game they play, even though it forces me to push through the crowds of die-hard fans that stuff the Muni trains and compels me to work into the wee hours of the morning to finish my homework. The few games I’m able to shell out my savings to attend are the highlights of my month.

My commitment grew and I became a real fanatic in October 2009 when the Phillies faced off against the Yankees in the World Series. With one crack of Utley’s bat I knew which team I was rooting for. Though I had normally stuck with Bay Area teams, I found myself glued to the TV for the six games of that series, cheering for the Phillies from my living room as if they could hear me from the opposite side of the country. Sadly, the Phils lost the title to the Yankees that year, but by then I had realized that a team does not have to win championships to be loved by its fans. When a team is winning, jumping on the bandwagon is easy and fun, it’s harder to love your team when they are losing. But I’m a true fan, I support my teams whether they are losing by 20 runs or winning by 30 runs.

We in the City by the Bay are lucky to have a phenomenal and lovable team with talent like rookie catcher Buster Posey, first baseman Aubrey Huff, and my personal favorite, former A’s pitcher, Barry Zito. As the Giants are currently the National League West division champions and are in a heart-seizing post-season race for the National League pennant and World Series spot, my normally quiet passion for San Francisco baseball has become noticeably more vocal. As my facebook statuses and twitter account will confirm, Giants baseball is pretty much all I talk about.

Along with the modern day novelty of baseball, I also enjoy the old-time authenticity that has lasted generations. Something about softball and baseball makes me feel invincible. When I’m at softball practice or watching a game, on TV or at the ballpark, all my troubles and worries in life — from college applications to relationships — fly out of the park and into McCovey Cove. When teams play, the world takes a time out and all that matters is how desperately I want my favorite team to be victorious. That in itself is a miracle to me. Even with my miniscule amount of free time, I make time for as many extra innings and infield drills as needed because to me, nothing beats a seventh-inning stretch in the real world.

Whether I’m playing softball or watching baseball, America’s national pastime reminds me that the Giants’ 2010 slogan is cheesy but true: “It’s Magic Inside.”

This article first appeared in the October 8, 2010 issue of The Lowell.