In some ways -- in many ways, perhaps -- it's downright silly to devote too much time and attention to sports, any sport, and certainly baseball is included in that list. However, what I've learned over the past fourteen years or so as my interest and investment in Mets fandom has expanded and evolved, is that dedication to a baseball team is about so much more than simply the stats and debates, wins and losses, camaraderie and divisiveness born of fandom.

My grandfather passed away last night, and among the massive tangle of emotions and responses I've experienced since I learned this news just over twelve hours ago, I have felt gratitude to baseball. Throughout my childhood, my grandfather was a constant presence: he was a steady, quiet, dedicated husband, father, and grandfather. He was the first person there when you were in need, silently and without expectation of reciprocation. He seemed larger than life to me when I was much younger, and after learning more about him, he still seems that way to me today.

Still, when we met, there wasn't always a great deal to discuss. Baseball provided a constant in our lives that we shared, namely his interest in the Boston Red Sox. It is difficult to conjure an image in my mind -- or find a photograph that was taken -- in which he is not wearing the classic "B" emblem baseball cap. I learned today that the children who would visit his residence regularly referred to him as "the man with the Red Sox hat."

He wasn't always up to date on box scores and wouldn't have known StatCast from bombast, but he was always interested in the standings and the headlines. Baseball provided a point of reference, a common ground, a means of small talk that was pleasant and comfortable. When I watched the Ken Burns baseball documentary earlier this year, learning about Ted Williams sparked memories of comments my grandfather had made years ago that suddenly made more sense in the light of my new understanding of history. In some sense, learning about certain aspects of baseball history made me feel connected to my grandfather in much the same way as learning about the history of the United States Army Air Corps or previously unearthed nuggets of family history could accomplish.

There's no great revelation here. In short, baseball's roots in American history and culture as well as the personal history of a loved one provides much more than one might imagine. Selfishly, baseball provides one way for my connection to my grandfather to live on: each day, new games are played, new box scores are released, and I have the opportunity to check in, reflect, and remember. It may only represent one minor aspect of the elements that comprised the man I loved and respected, but it's enough to help me carry on, and for that, I'm grateful.

When I was a kid, I loved playing baseball, but I don't remember watching much or following the game in any real way. While I chose to spend my allowance elsewhere, I respected items like comics and, of course, baseball cards. My strongest connection to the game beyond playing shortstop in tee ball or backyard ball was through the packs of cards I came across in a variety of ways, from receiving them as presents from my grandfather to capitalizing on a deal at our local flea market.

And so, with no real reason to provide, it struck me last week that it might be fun to pick up a pack of baseball cards. I was at Target, about to check out, and the cards caught my eye. After much browsing--and some frustration at there being Yankees and Red Sox team packs but none for the Mets--I settled on the Topps "2017 Opening Day" series. After all, there were "3 inserts per pack," which sounded fun, not that I really knew what those were.

The cards themselves were sharp: neatly designed, crisp cardstock with a glossy coating on the face. As a Mets fan, I was of course looking for a Céspedes or a Cabrera, a deGrom or a Syndergaard, a Granderson or a Flores, or even a T.J. Rivera. Really, any Met would have been exciting. But, alas, it was... wait for the bad pun... not in the cards.

Probably the most fun I had was coming across the Chris Sale card, he lately of the Chicago White Sox but now officially a member of the Boston Red Sox. His numbers, as the reverse side of the card can attest to, are fantastic, and with David Price out for a stretch, Sale is all the more important. I can appreciate the Mark Trumbo "orange carpet" walk card. My favorite card, visually, was the Ryon Healy -- Athletics third baseman -- card... until I read the back of the card, which celebrated a three-run homer off my favorite player of all-time, R.A. Dickey.

Then came a succession of names I could simply toss aside, my Mets honor intact. Brian McCann and Freddie Freeman, former and current Braves respectively, passed through my grip. I paused to read and smile at the feats Giancarlo Stanton has achieved, until remembering how many had come against the Mets wiped the smile off my face. On principle, I couldn't spend more than a moment with (NL East rival) Phillies first baseman Tommy Joseph and even less with (2015 World Series competition) Kansas City Royals outfielder Lorenzo Cain. Being a fan of baseball cards has become so much more complicated in the interceding years since childhood, as I grew into my Mets fandom...

I flew through the remainder of the pack, finding names I've heard of -- the Orioles' Manny Machado and Felix "the King" Hernandez, to name a couple -- and delighted in learning a bit more about them. The rest were a mixture of names I've heard and names I haven't, and last but not least, I came across a visage that made me wonder if Mr. Met had relatives in the game (namely, Mr. Red, the Cincinatti Reds mascot).

All in all, it was fun to pick up this pack of cards, but as I don't collect them or have any practical way to store or display them, I found myself wondering what exactly to do with them. They weren't related to my team, so no use dwelling too long on them. Is this what card collecting was like when I was a kid? I don't remember and don't believe so, though I do remember the cards I picked up spending most of their time in a Stride Rite shoe box. Thus, with one fell swoop, I deposited the cards back in their packaging, taped them up, and resolved to pass them along to a baseball fan younger than I am -- or a collector perhaps, if I knew one -- who can more rightly appreciate them!