Baseball - a few thoughts - (Dec. 2007)
The Fall Classic
The World Series!
As an eighth-grader
the team I spent the summer rooting for
living and dying for -
The New York Yankees
Were no where
to be found
Instead,
me
and half of the male population
of Wooster Jr. High School
were huddled
around a small
transistor radio
in the upstairs bathroom -
the crackly reception
was always better
on the second floor.
The Oakland A’s –
with their weirdly colorful uniforms –
vs the New York Mets -
how did they get there? -
The crack of the
ball and bat connecting…
the roar of the crowd…
the pop of the ball ripping into a leather glove…
the umpire calling the balls and strikes…
As a young boy
I could close my eyes
and feel the excitement
of the crowd…
you could almost smell the fresh cut grass…
Baseball!
Just walking into Yankee Stadium
when you see the field for the first time
as you pass through the tunnel
to find your seat -
or all Baseball stadiums really –
are shrines to Americana:
where sunny afternoons
and youthful enthusiasm
are captured and generously applied
to all who enter.
Where the swing of a bat
or a pitcher throwing amazing heat
can send you into ecstasy
or misery.
Where kids in school –
hell everyone -
can huddle around a radio
just to catch
a little piece of the magic.
And after school
find a field, a yard, or street
to continue the spirit of baseball!
“See, I told you
nothing will get by Brooks Robinson!”
“Man, Tom Seaver
is unhitable!”
“Watch – The Yanks
will be in the series
next year!”
(Yes, the magic
can be intoxicating
to the point
of making one delusional!)
But that’s part of the hope
each new baseball season brings.
And when I became a father
I wanted to share baseball -
the magic -
with my children.
My sons
of course
started rooting for
the hated Red Sox
My daughter
In her own words
became a “Yankee Girl!!”
But there was never
a transistor radio
needed for
afternoon games.
Daytime baseball
during the week -
and especially during the playoffs -
is all but gone!
No meaningful games
are played in the
afternoon sun.
They start at night
and end after the kids are asleep.
Eventually -
the kids interest in baseball
drifted off with their dreams.
And now
they couldn’t care less!
And now baseball –
once America’s game –
is now just a hobby of corporate amerika;
filled with players
who think they are bigger than the game -
and some are…
physically bigger anyway
using steroids as the air pump
that inflates them
(while hopefully shrinking their weenies)
to even more inflated paydays.
But in America
as the St. Patrick’s day
hangover fades
and people start looking past
the unwelcome snow banks that linger
to the start of Spring; counting the days
until pitchers and catchers report
to Spring training.
So, as long as
there are kids…
and a field…
and a ball…
and a bat…
and some imagination…
(OK, I’m Brooks Robinson at third,
I’m Derek Jeter at shortstop,
I'm Joan Joyce pitching,
I’m Manny Ramirez in the outfield,
No, you’re Barry Bonds! The Cheater!,
No, I’m Manny!!)
As long as kids
think
dream
baseball
There is hope…
And hope is eternal!
(Unless professional baseball fucks that up too!)
