I Was Right On Time.

Kansas City 1997, at historic 18th and Vine Street; home of the house Buck O'Neil built.

This is where I began to learn the full history of the game I've loved since a child. Newly wed, my wife Brianne and I found this place called the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, and I couldn't wait to uncover what it was all about. Sure, I'd heard of Josh Gibson, Satchel Paige, Jackie Robinson and this Buck O'Neil.

My view of baseball was neat, well-kept and defined by favorites like George Brett, Ozzie Smith, Ryne Sandberg, Gary Carter, and Ken Griffey, Jr. Historical giants such as Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, and Jackie Robinson were benchmarks in my sharply defined image of baseball history.

What I discovered that day slurred the stats, blurred all the images from the annals of the game's history, and my heart began to feel lied to by revelation of a different story. It was an injustice I had never known and a world I could never harbor in my own soul, yet a time I increasingly realized I knew very little about.

Hatred and separation were dwarfed by the greatness that surrounded Brianne and I that afternoon. Little did I know this would be the beginning of a personal search for baseball's TRUE heroes and their stories retold. In the infancy of this revelation came a newfound desire to give back, which ultimately lead to a friendship with four former Negro Leaguers and the elusive pleasure to create/produce baseball cards and materials for them to use at their disposal. None of this would have happened without the visit to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. As my wife Brianne and I were wrapping up our visit with a stop in the museum's gift shop, the clerk mentioned that Buck O'Neil was here today...."He's in a meeting right now, but he'll be down shortly to go to lunch." Brianne tells me she will never forget the look on my face. The pendulum of emotions I felt that day have scarcely been matched and my vision of the game became so small to me, yet one glance of Buck as he made his way to us eased my thoughts, his calm voice silenced my own, and struck my ears to attention.

"I'll sign your ball - just a minute - just a minute.....I've got to hug the ladies first!"

He gave Brianne a big hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Now...........where's that baseball?"

He graciously signed my ball, asked how we liked the museum, and where we were from. We all went outside and Brianne took my picture with Buck. He thanked us and he drove off in that big boat of a car to go to lunch. His presence is ingrained in my mind and his accomplishments, though great and many, are a mere silhouette to the love he displayed.