Opening Day

Oh, Baseball Opening Day! Twas so sweet this year. For a moment or two, I forgot all about Donald Trump and the mischief he brings. Didn’t give a thought to Prayin’ Pete, Lucky Lutnick, Pam Blondi or any of the other cohorts having havocs and wreakin’ wrecks all over the place. All I knew is that the God Bless Them Boys of Baltimore, the O’s, were about to hit the field and wipe the dust off from last year.

Something about the game of baseball that brings people together, defines community, allows for friendly competition. What a pleasant respite across the country as we root for the home team. Been with us since we were kids and generations before. Time-honored in the sense that you can take the hands on the face of the clock and bend them back, for a moment or two, as you enjoy a few innings.

I was the little guy in the pack. Didn’t matter if my best bud, Joey, was smaller, I was and still am dubbed, the little guy. Never even made it to rec ball in this gloriously wonderful American pastime. My vision was just too wonky to eagle eye the lightning fast, white projectile hurled at me. I tried, but kept getting hit in the head. I was a little better with a softball and its larger size, though I couldn’t get that critical hand-eye coordination going no matter what I did. Sadly, I had to retire from basketball at the age of thirteen. Once the other kids started to grow taller and more muscular, I remained a small fry and usually ended up as mashed potatoes on the court.

What I lacked in natural skill, though, more than made up for it studying sports, admiring the talent, and feeling the same euphoria as any of the participants. Competitive sportsmanship is a binding event. There’re always sides, but there’s also camaraderie and appreciation for skill and prowess on the field. That goes beyond the win-at-all-costs sportsmanship and honors the triumph of the human spirit in these physical endeavors. Somehow, baseball embraces and captures the essence of the competitive spirit married to the team concept in life itself. Just like living, try playing a real game of baseball by yourself.

Now, I’m not so naive to believe that baseball can cure all ills. Baseball as it exists today is like anything else on the field, the court, or at the table. Gone are the days of innocence. Like most sports, baseball has morphed and adjusted to the demands of society to give them heroes and media stars. Like puppeteers, the machinations and profitable maneuverings of the money players behind the athletes run the show. America, where a buck can be made on just about anything. Past the bags of gold and hero worship going on, though, there is still a magical allure with the game of baseball. Hoping for a victory and happy to be in the moment, the camaraderie is contagious with smiles all around.

Almost missed opening day as I was busy around the house. Somehow, missed the 109-year old gentleman, proud American and military veteran, throw out the first pitch at the Baltimore game. Simply, wow, when you stop to think about it. He could have been sitting on his porch, having a birthday party at home. With all the amazing history and achievements this man has gone through, he simply wanted to be in the ballpark.

I was at the ballpark some years back, the old Memorial Stadium on 33rd Street. The seating wasn’t as stylish as the new stadium they built. Overall, it was more of a level playing field for down-front seating, as well as the nosebleeds. Football in the stadium was one thing, but watching a game of baseball while sitting in the stands was about as close to the game as you could get. Everything was indeed magical.

Couldn’t tell you who we played that day, though I do recall we won the game. By the time the seventh inning stretch rolled around, I was ready to visit the little boys’ room. Since I was an official little guy, I was headed in the right direction.

As I angled my way through the crowd in the concourse, I was a happy guy. Wearing bifocals, I was accustomed to walking with my head down. Watching my feet helped me to see better and in inclement weather it kept the rain from messing with my sight. I liked this way of walking, but not looking up now and then, I was bound to run into something. Tough being a little guy walking into things.

No matter, I was getting closer to the restroom when all of a sudden I walked smack dab into a group of men, very important looking men. As it turned out, these men formed a semicircle of protection around one bigger man. Without trying, I found myself bumping right into this bigger man, alarming the other men and surprising myself for getting into this situation.

With no way to walk around this gentleman, I stopped and started looking up, way up, until I could see who it was I had walked into. Standing before me was a very tall Jesse Jackson, there to watch the game just like me. As my gaze went higher, I studied his face and wondered what was going to happen next.

Well, I didn’t look at his bodyguards, didn’t look for an escape route. Instead, I found myself looking up into the face of Jesse Jackson. Here was a social and political figure of some prominence, and I wondered what to say. ‘Excuse me’ wouldn’t work, nor anything else to get out of the situation. So, I just looked at Mr. Jackson and said without hesitation, ‘How ’bout dem O’s!’

Jesse Jackson looked down at me and smiled broadly. After a quick second, his entourage whisked him away as fast as he had come. I cut to the right into the bathroom wearing a smile equally as big.

Didn’t have strong political leanings back then and have less of them today. America has morphed and adjusted the game of politics about as much as our favorite pastime. In truth, the maneuverings they play in the White House and in the halls of Congress, one upsmanship and nasty play is the only game going. Sadly, they play, we lose.

Opening Day is a promise of hope, that the natural inclination of honest and friendly competitiveness with a level playing field is something we can all feel. One can hope that the field of dreams is an awakening of that spirit of working together. The magic of baseball is the promise of America in the sense that, as winners and losers, when we root for the home team we are all winners.