“[baseball] breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall all alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.” - A. Bartlett Giamatti While the end of the baseball season signals the long winter ahead, true heartbreak occurs when your team walks off the field for the final time. When I was 12 years old the Madison Muskies announced the 1993 season would be their last in Madison. They were moving to West Michigan (near Grand Rapids) for a new stadium and a fan base that had been deprived of baseball for decades. The end of the final season of Muskies baseball left a void in my 12 year old heart that was never going to be filled by Hatters, Black Wolf, Mallards, or any other baseball outfit no matter how hard they may try. The Muskies were the local team of my youth, the team that as long as I could remember were a fixture of my summer memories. The Muskies were a big part of the emergence and growth of my love for the game of baseball. The Muskies were part of the fabric of my hometown. While the players would come and go during one brief stop along their professional development paths, they would forever remain Madison Muskies in my mind. With Oakland's success in the late 80's and early 90's it was a constant source of pride to see former Muskies players make an impact at the games highest level. The Muskies leaving Madison didn't seem like it could actually happen, but soon enough it would become reality. When they finally left, a small segment of my baseball fandom dried up with them. And I hated West Michigan for it. The following years when the local newspaper would publish minor league attendance numbers and West Michigan was breaking records I despised them even more. I didn't know anything about Grand Rapids, Michigan, but for the next several years I knew them as the place and the people that stole "My Team". Years later I met a girl who had moved to Michigan in her early teens. When she learned of my love for the game of baseball she told me, "you should go to a Whitecaps game sometime, the park is really nice." I went on to learn that girl went to Whitecaps games as an important part of her own youth. The games served as part of her indoctrination into the local community to which she had moved. She went on to become my wife and as life has a tendency to do I learned a valuable lesson. There is beauty in the heartbreak baseball can cause. The game never just ends, baseball's impact is eternal even as the players, parks, and municipalities change. Madison's loss was certainly West Michigan's gain. Still the magic of the game of baseball didn't end in Warner Park, it transferred to another community that reaped the benefits. While it doesn't make it sting any less to lose your team there is at least some small comfort in knowing the game will continue on, always. Good luck to the Brevard County franchise as they move on to their new community in Kissimmee, FL.