Some people dream of climbing mountains or running marathons. Me? My bucket list has always been a little more… baseball shaped. The goal: hit every single Major League Baseball stadium. Call it my version of going 30-for-30.

It all started back in Arizona, where spring training was practically in my backyard. Sunshine, cheap seats, rookies trying to make the roster—it was love at first pitch! Add in the fact that Aaron was once a bat boy for the Seattle Mariners (yes, he’s got dugout street cred), and my fate was sealed. Baseball wasn’t just a game, it was the game.

 I’ve crossed the country chasing the crack of the bat, from the ivy at Wrigley to the Green Monster in Fenway. I’ve watched the sausage races in Milwaukee, taken in the skyline view from PNC Park in Pittsburgh, and marveled at San Francisco’s Oracle Park where home run balls splash into McCovey Cove. Each stadium has its quirks, its traditions, its die-hard fans who remind you that baseball is as much about community as it is about box scores.

Over the years, the ballparks piled up—and so did the stories. My very first MLB game was deep in the heart of Texas, where everything really is bigger, especially the stadium. I chased Tim Lincecum like a groupie, even following him down to Triple-A just to see him pitch. In Kansas City, I nearly took one for the team when Buster Posey’s bat came flying through the net—talk about chin music. At Wrigley, I couldn’t resist hollering “Rizz Dog!” at Anthony Rizzo like I’d been part of the Bleacher Bums my whole life.

And then there are the truly unforgettable moments—like standing in Yankee Stadium, hollering up to the one and only Judge… Mr. Aaron Judge. Or the time in Seattle when Aaron spotted me on the big screen—in the bathroom, no less—double-fisting a box of Cracker Jacks. Yep, nothing screams “America’s pastime” quite like snack food and poor timing.That’s baseball for you: sometimes you’re the MVP, sometimes you’re the blooper reel.

We recently rounded third and headed for home with the last two stadiums left: Yankee Stadium and Citi Field. The Bronx Bombers and the Amazin’ Mets. The House that Ruth Built and the rotunda that honors Jackie Robinson. Once we crossed those off, we went the distance—All 30 stadiums, every park, every anthem, every seventh-inning stretch, every hot dog (probably too many to count), and “Play ball!” echoing in my memory.

It’s been a journey as unpredictable and beautiful as the game itself. And while finishing the list might feel like the bottom of the ninth, I know the truth: for a fan, baseball is always extra innings. There’s  always another game, always another story waiting to happen. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Here’s to many more extra innings! MLB Ballgame Bucket list complete!