Sunday, October 18, 2009

Baseball once again has captured my attention for these few autumn weeks. Who knows what will have happened in the weekend games by the time you read these lines, but let's hope for the best.

Regardless of the scoreboard, there are some certainties. Yankees fans will go berserk as their Bronx Bombers take the field in traditional pinstripes. There likely will be a shooting in Philly over this pennant race and folks in Los Angeles will sit for hours in traffic on the 405 trying to reach Dodgers Stadium.

I noticed during the Friday night game that the Yanks don't have their last names on their jerseys. It was a bit frustrating, as that would make it easier to yell things at the individual players who screw up.

But I learned online all about the Yankees' jerseys, which really do have that classic baseball feel to them. Say what you want about them (and I say plenty about A-Rod) the Yankees at least look like a baseball team.

I just wish I knew who they were individually, because there's a lot in a name.

The announcers refer to the guys usually by their last names only, and it sounds like a breach of etiquette to hear one of them say, "Derek" instead of "Jeter."

Like I said, there's a lot in a name.

My last name will be changing in six months and while I'm thrilled by the thought of my new, or at least expanded, identity, it gives me pause.

Anyone I meet after April 10 will know me only as Mandy Miles. And I wonder, what will they be missing?

It's like children who puzzle over their mother's maiden name when they see her picture in a high school yearbook.

Who is that young, unfamiliar woman with the same last name as Grandma? The woman in that picture wouldn't even recognize these children, who are poring over the book years later.

People I encounter after April will never have known Mandy Bolen -- daughter, granddaughter, sister and Aunt Mandy.

They won't have known the single writer who moved to Key West right out of college and managed to survive her 20s in this town with no arrests or debilitating substance abuse problems.

Conversely, the people who know only Mandy Bolen will not know of my more complete identity once I become a wife.

Long-ago high school and college acquaintances will not have a familiar name to Google or seek out in alumni magazines.

Their knowledge of me will be confined to memories of a high school athlete or the college roommate who took spontaneous road trips to Tucson and New Orleans.

They'll know only the 19-year-old English major who went sky-diving on Easter Sunday of freshman year rather than journeying home for an early ham dinner at Gram's house in Jersey.

Those folks from the past will know only the girl always willing to skip class for a game of Frisbee golf at a North Carolina park, but who nonetheless managed to graduate with honors and secure a job in her chosen field.

What will become of Mandy Bolen when I become Mandy Miles?

Actually, I know I'll be the same person. No, actually, I'll be a better and more complete version of myself, because I will be part of a wonderful new team -- and we'll put our name on our jerseys.

Go Phils.

mbolen@keysnews.com