As the World Series is nearing its end, I feel the need to reach out to the fans of America’s pastime in the only way I can – through movies.

I’ve never been a big fan of baseball. I could never play the game and I do not have the patience to sit through the four or five days it takes to play. Yes, I know, you think I mean cricket. I don’t. I’ve sat through extra innings and it feels like four or five days. 

Baseball movies, on the other hand, can be magic – one of life’s great mysteries. And one of my absolute favorites, possibly the most magical of all, is Field of Dreams. God, I love this movie. As much as I’ve got no interest in baseball as a game, that’s how much I love Field of Dreams – no matter how much embarrassment it causes me. In case you haven’t figured it out, it makes me cry like a baby. Yes, that’s right. Even now – after 25 years and a million viewings – I blubber uncontrollably through at least the last 15 minutes.

Who’d a thunk I could have my heart ripped open by a movie about this slow, boring sport? Me, a kid who’s most vivid memory of playing is getting nailed in the nose with the ball. I almost didn’t even go that first time. I’d just seen Bull Durham (hated it!) and wasn’t sure I was up to another trip to the diamond with Kevin Costner. But my sister had scored some free tickets and I love a freebie.

I could feel myself getting more and more fragile as it went along. Then Kevin Costner said those eight words, “Hey Dad. You wanna have a catch?” and it was all over. The floodgates opened. I’m getting misty-eyed as I type this.

“You’re crying?” my sister asked without much sympathy. She hates this part of the story because she thinks it makes her sound awful. She wasn’t. She’s a girl and girls don’t generally get this movie the way guys do. I thought they would. I thought it was all about parents and children. It’s not. It’s about fathers and sons. And that’s part of what makes it cool.

Almost no one got up immediately after that show. I looked around and saw most of the guys covering their faces to hide the tears, asking for a minute to pull themselves together while their wives, girlfriends and sisters sat in confused patience.

Since then, “Field of Dreams” has been sort of a bonding point. Gay guys, straight guys – we all cry and no one’s even a little embarrassed to admit it. If you ask, you’ll just get a full-on “Shuh!” to let you know how stupid the question is.

Far from losing its impact, Field of Dreams’ effect on me has only grown over time. I cry now more than ever. That first time the trigger was “wanna have a catch?” Now I well up when Archie steps out of the field and the tears flow right through the closing credits. That won’t mean anything unless you’ve seen it – but has anyone not seen it?

Of course you can’t please all of the people all of the time. My friends John and Paul hated it. (George and Ringo thought it was swell, though.) My girlfriend Kat says she cries every time she sees it, too. She’s the only girl who’s ever told me that. So some guys don’t get it and some girls do. I’m glad I get it. There’s something cleansing about a good cry and a chance to think about my dad.