twenty-something

From the first time I saw him at bat in April of last year, Red Sox second baseman Dustin Pedroia was my favorite player. Ever.

The balding, twenty-three-year-old rookie struck out and stole my heart. There was something about the way he opened his eyes wide before unleashing that big—and, at the time, unproductive—swing that grabbed me and still hasn't let go.

"He's going to be Rookie of the Year," I said as the inning ended and NESN went to commercial. And the rest, as they say, is history.

My friends assumed—and I can't say I blame them—that my admiration was because I wanted to sleep with him. Why else would a gay boy from Vermont who had little interest in professional sport, save for a few years as an NBA fan in the mid-nineties, suddenly have such an interest in baseball, and in one player in particular?

No doubt he's cute—a short, fresh-faced kid—and many Sox fans—gay men and straight women alike—ate that right up. But, to be honest, Dustin is low on my personal list of "Baseball Players I Want to Do" (a list that is topped *ahem* by Sox Captain Jason Varitek).

For me, it really isn't about his pretty face or cute little butt. No, it's all about that big heart.