So my father attempted to raise me as a Yankee fan. It worked until I was about 8 years old, but he never really taught me the game—he’d just bring me to Yankee Stadium and buy me all the dogs and ice creams I wanted.

Then I moved in full time with my mom. She is a serious Red Sox fan, who taught me about baseball itself and every questionable play called. I knew I would be a true Red Sox fan when I saw her kick a coffee table, breaking her toe, during the ‘86 World Series.

Considering my lifetime of baseball and baseball fans, it’s rather amazing to me that I’ve never actually been to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Now I’m going, on my own, to kick off my baseball stadium road trip.

I plan to take my time walking through every exhibit, but I’m most excited to see Sacred Ground, more than 200 artifacts that span more than 125 years of baseball history, dating back to wooden ballparks in the 19th century. I’m planning to journal about my little adventure, and I can’t think of a better way to start it off.