I’ve recently found myself thinking the unthinkable—casting doubt on a relationship that has remained unshakable for over a decade. I’ve begun to question my commitment to the game of baseball.

When I was younger, my relationship with the game was rock-solid. All I cared about was reading box scores, organizing my baseball cards, and impressing dinner guests with obscure facts about Nap Lajoie and Wee Willie Keeler. Never did I feel cheated or disappointed by the game, only awed by its beauty, complexity, and celebrated traditions. Baseball was so pure, so flawless—magical even. But then salaries started skyrocketing, ticket prices started soaring, and Barry Bonds’ biceps started bulging.

My relationship with baseball is now on the rocks. Like most fans, I’m disgusted with baseball’s recent trends: bigheaded, money-crazed players, exorbitant prices, and, of course, illegal steroid use. A recent article in Newsweek tells the story of a lifelong fan who decided to completely disassociate himself from the game. After attending over eight hundred games, visiting twenty-eight ballparks, and buying season tickets at Yankee Stadium, he had simply had enough. Baseball had broken his heart too many times, and he was resigning as a fan. And where do all the turmoil, deception and depravity in baseball today leave me? Must I resign, too? It seems like the correct moral action to take. But I just can’t do it.

Baseball and I were introduced in ’93, just days after I moved back to the United States following a three year stay in Europe. I remember our first encounter with striking clarity, much more vividly than I remember the day I met my boyfriend (fitting, as my relationship with baseball has lasted much longer—and I must say, baseball has never been insensitive when I’m feeling insecure or forgotten to call). It was love at first sight. I was sitting in a Staten Island hotel room, flipping through channels, when I came across a baseball game. The attraction was immediate and hard-hitting: I was instantly mesmerized by the emerald green field, the graceful movements of the players, the sound of bat connecting with ball.

Our young relationship was soon tested. On an almost daily basis I was subjected to merciless taunts by my Yankee-loving classmates because I was a Baltimore Orioles fan. Yet neither my commitment to the sport, nor to the Orioles, ever wavered. We were officially married in the summer of ’94, when my family moved to Washington D.C.

People say that the first year of marriage is the hardest, and I must admit, we went through a lot that year—we had difficulties communicating, conflicts over clashing belief systems and expectations, and ultimately, an eight month separation (otherwise know as the strike of ’94-’95). I could have called the whole thing off then, but I decided to stick it out. I gave baseball the time and space it needed to work out its personal issues, and in retrospect, I’m glad I did. The next year I was able to watch Cal Ripken break Lou Gehrig’s consecutive game streak record while living in the heart of Orioles country. From then on, we were inseparable.

Now I find myself wondering. Has our once harmonious marriage run its course? I’ve decided to explore the different grounds for divorce, in order to see if my relationship with baseball meets the criteria for a permanent separation.

Reason #1: Extreme Cruelty. Roof box seats cost $80. Cokes cost $5. Granted, my “home” stadium is now Fenway, but paying a couple hundred bucks just for an afternoon at the Park seems pretty cruel to me.

Reason #2: Willful Neglect. Players have simply forgotten the fans. Instead of signing kids’ hats and gloves before games, more and more ballplayers are charging for autographs. It’s gotten so bad that a Rhode Island state senator has proposed legislation that would prohibit professional athletes from charging for autographs.

Reason #3: Habitual Impertinence (i.e., Drunkenness or Drug addiction). Two Oriole players, Sidney Ponson and Eric DuBose, were charged with DUI’s this off-season. What is more, Sidney Ponson was also involved in two drunken brawls—one in which he punched a judge on Christmas Day. And this was only the misconduct of one team in one off-season…

Reason #4: Conviction of a Crime. Baseball has seen its share of lawbreakers. Just look at Steve Howe and Darryl Strawberry, each of whom has a criminal record longer than Johnny Damon’s hair. But what about your run-of-the-mill steroid injector? Using steroids without a prescription is a criminal offense in forty-eight states.

Reason #5: Irreconcilable Differences. The game’s priorities are no longer in sync with the fans’. Perhaps we’ve just grown apart. Perhaps it’s time to move on.

But despite there being a powerful argument for divorce, I can’t desert the game I love. If my boyfriend treated me the way that baseball has, he’d be long gone. Yet when it comes to baseball, I’m willing to subject myself to continued abuse. Maybe I’m stupid. Maybe I’m a hypocrite for supporting an institution in which I find so many faults. But baseball is a part of me. How can I erase a piece of myself?

In Field of Dreams, James Earl Jones’ character remarks that baseball “reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again.” Baseball was once good. And it can be again. Baseball needs to change. It needs a much more stringent steroid policy—not one that will give players five opportunities to get caught before the possibility of a permanent expulsion. How about three strikes and you’re out? It needs a salary cap to help control the huge financial inequities between teams. It needs players who are not only committed to their teams and fans, but committed to setting a good example for America’s young athletes, especially high school and college-level athletes who may be tempted to use performance-enhancing drugs. Basically, it needs to rediscover the simple qualities that once made it so great.

Yes, baseball has a lot to improve upon, but one thing is for sure: this fan is going to be around to watch it happen.