Like with most things, I discovered the news from my friends online. I don’t know whether I first saw the announcement on Twitter or Facebook, but I learned Earl Weaver had died when I checked in to see if anyone had posted any funny pictures while I was busy.

I try not to get caught up in hero worship so I didn’t have an immediate visceral reaction to the news. Weaver was 82 years old. He lived a good, long life. I couldn’t get too sad over the death of someone I never met, but one other emotion did take over.

Nostalgia.

Some of the best times I had growing up related to Baltimore’s baseball team. Weaver played a big role because I could, for some reason, relate to a short, temperamental person born on August 14. Sharing a birthday with the manager of my favorite team always made me smile for some silly reason.

Weaver also had a story that I could relate to. He never made it to the major leagues and eventually channeled his passion for the game into managing. The chip on his shoulder might have come from knowing he missed reaching his dream by just one step.

I never had a chance to even sniff the minor leagues, and can’t say that my life paralleled Earl Weaver’s in any way, shape or form, but I did learn some lessons as I obsessively followed the team in my elementary school days.

Back then, baseball was a family affair for me. Both my parents grew up avid fans of the game, and they passed that down. Sometimes, a whole bunch of us would plan for a night at Memorial Stadium, but more often than not, we would go to a game on a lark because you could always find a seat in the bleachers.

We would dissect the decision to play Cal Ripken at shortstop and debate the merits of the new rookie who had appeared in the bullpen. So many great Oriole pitchers started their careers that way, we always had hope that another legend would grow before our very eyes.

At the same time, the team resembled a family in a way teams just don’t seem to anymore. This could sound like a (getting older) guy complaining about the good ol’ days in sports, but that’s really not the point. I understand why things have changed for pro athletes.

That doesn’t mean that the era I grew up in didn’t affect me. I could go to games with my older brothers for a pretty low price and watch a bunch of guys who really seemed to care about each other led by a guy who I could relate to on some superficial level.

I don’t know if that can happen again. I carry as much of the blame as the current atmosphere in pro sports. My days of covering sports as a reporter along with my coaching and officiating experience make it hard for me to get too wrapped up in things anymore. I really enjoy the games, but just can’t invest the love and hate I used to.

That’s why I smiled a little inside when I thought about Earl Weaver last week. I’m glad I have those memories.