Spurred on by Blez' diary on why we are fans, I felt the need to write this, my first diary.  I've been a fan for as long as I can remember: going back at least to '87 when at the ripe old age of 4 I had already set my sights on being a player for our hometown boys.  This season has taken on a much different dimension for me; it has reminded me why sports matter, and has thoroughly cemented my love of baseball.

On July 25, in the midst of a 3 game series with the Red Sox and a tight division race, I lost my mother.  She finally gave in to a battle with breast cancer, one that we thought she had won, only to have it return stronger than before.  I am blessed in that my family is in the Bay Area and I was able to her regularly right up until the end.  The Sunday night before she died I slept at my family's home in Marin, and was able to say good bye to her and tell her that I loved her on Monday morning before I headed off to work (and an A's-Red Sox game).  She died in her sleep that night.

My mother, Karen, was an avid A's fan, and even more so with Nick Swisher on the team.  Her maiden name was Swisher, and she followed him regularly, both on TV and in the paper.  To be able to come home and have an easy talking point with her was wonderful.  I grew up going to A's games with my parents, and the semblance of life as normal was much needed around our house.

Having family close by has been more than I could have asked for, and I'm so thankful for that.  Since my mother's passing, baseball has been a single cause for us to come together over.  I am in my first full year in the bay, after finishing college in June of 2005 and coming back from the east.  One of my big purchases for the year was a 22 game package in the bleachers.  I can't really express the value of these seats, and the time spent in them with my family.

To be able to escape from my daily routine and experience 3 hours of pure unadulterated joy (or the occasional agony) is, quite simply, therapeutic.  Being able to give my dad and brother tickets to the Wednesday day game against the Sox after my mother's death gave me pleasure when there wasn't a lot to be happy about.  For them the escape from our family home, and the shower of flowers and phone calls was a reprieve.  A getaway to a place where you can put everything on hold and take hold of an experience that's completely trivial in the greater scheme, but matters so much nonetheless.

Since her death, I have been to a number of games, mostly with my little brother, who is about to head off to college himself.  That bonding time has truly cemented our friendship.  There were 2 games, though, that stand out in my mind as true bright spots.  The first was the Sunday following her death, AN day actually, when Milton rewarded us all for having faith and won the game with his dinger in the 9th against the Jays.  Her memorial was on the preceding Friday, and the value of shouting my face off in the LF bleachers can't be understated.  I showed up about 45 minutes early to collect my Danny Haren bobblehead, which I was already too late for.  So I headed to the bleachers already disappointed.  Then the A's got behind, and it looked like a real downer of a day.  But the magic in the ninth inning somehow restored faith in me that things get better; miracles can happen.  So when Milton hit his shot, and I glanced down to find a rogue bobblehead sitting at my feet, left behind by my neighbors, I guess you could say I was euphoric.  At a time when I most needed to be lifted up, who was there to lend me a hand but my A's.  I've stuck with them through thick and thin, and now they were not only returning the favor, but doing it in such dramatic fashion that I couldn't help but feel it had all been choreographed just for me.

The second standout game came against the Devil Rays a couple of weeks later.  It was a gem from one Esteban Loiza, a great win no doubt, but my personal highlight was taking my grandfather to a game.  

At my mother's memorial my sister gave him a previously discussed Nick Swisher bobblehead that she had gotten off of eBay, a much needed light-hearted moment on a difficult day.  With some cajoling, we were able to talk him into coming to a game with us... and I got the tickets during my next jaunt over to Coliseum.  Bill Swisher hadn't been to a baseball game in some 30 odd years, but sitting next to him, I could tell that he enjoyed every minute of it: both for the game itself, and even more for the opportunity to spend the afternoon with his only 3 grandchildren.  Although they would never say so, my grandparents were concerned that with my mother gone their link to us would grow weaker.  So to be included in a family outing had deeper meaning that we all instinctively recognized.  They are still part of this family, and nothing can take that away.  I can only hope that we should be so lucky to have more of these outings, bonding over Nick Swisher, over baseball, and over the memory of my mother.

Now as the games left on the schedule dwindle, it's coming down to crunch time for the A's, and I can only hope for the best.  Regardless of the outcome this year, though, the value the Athletics have had to me this season is immeasurable.  I will never forget the 2006 season.  And there is no chance that I'll ever give up this team.  They are my Oakland A's.  My family's Oakland A's.