Baseball

   A few weeks ago, on the night before my moving out, my family and I went to a minor-league baseball game as kind of a last all-together celebration-type thing. We used to have season tickets, went to many, many games over the years, but lately have gone to about one game every two or three years.

   None of us had ever been to the new stadium that was built a few years ago, and my siblings had free tickets from participating in the library's summer reading program, so those provided good excuses to see a ballgame. Interesting atmosphere around the park, lots of neat old architecture to look at. Once inside, our tickets were on the grassy lawn in right field, so it was a little hard to judge what the new field was like, as we couldn't see much and were surrounded by crickets, popcorn and little kids chasing the crickets, trying to capture them. We're pretty baseball-illiterate, so Dad and I tried to answer Caleb's questions about what was happening as best we could.
   So, it was a little hard to make a judgement on the actual stadium itself, not being in the stands. But one thing's for sure: It just isn't Drillers Stadium. We left in the middle of the sixth inning, have no idea if Tulsa even won or not. But it was kind of sad, for most of us. We were all slightly bored, and Mom, Dad and I were thinking of memories of my growing up, and all the times I'd tagged along on youth group nights and things like that, re-enacting last night's game in the apartment, or playing catch with Katie while Mr Rae watches from his back porch and yells encouragement, with all the dogs on the block yapping loudly.

   No, I'm not much a fan of baseball, though I try to keep up with the Cardinals. (Always sort of liked them, and I've got friends in St Louis and Springfield, home of their AA team.) And I used to hate the game. But somewhere along the way of being forced to watch, covering high school games for the paper, and then playing cabbage ball in the summertime, I learned to tolerate it, and occasionally even enjoy the peculiar style of big plays and important moments.
   I have a lot of friends who LOVE it, though; and that's fine. If they enjoy it, let them, and I'll enjoy watching their enjoyment. Josh has played for practically forever until he stopped last summer, trying to figure out where to go next. Dylan played a little, and Cassady went on to play college softball. I know a family who goes down to see Rangers games every chance they get, and a few who about flew through the roof during last year's World Series. That was interesting, being Texas-St Louis, and so I knew people (rabidly) rooting for both sides. And my goodness, Game 6...that was amazing! I had the TV on all night, checking the score once in a while, and then tuned in about the seventh or eighth inning. Things don't look too good for the Cards, but then comes that rally, and then it goes into extra innings, and then David Freese's play in the eleventh...that was awesome. I heard this one story of someone who went to Wal-Mart that night, naturally listening to the game on the radio. She sat in the car in the parking lot for over an hour, because things were that exciting and tense.THAT is why I love sports.

   My friend Emily is one of those people I mentioned who love the game, and try to stay in touch with it as much as is realistically possible. She wrote a poem about it one day, and then dug out an old essay from several years ago that she'd written, and put them on her blog. (See http://www.myearnestheart.blogspot.com/2012/05/game-baseball.html) The poem is this:

"The game has its balls and strikes,
The umpire never gets it right,
But that's the game; you'd better sit tight.
The game has its hits and runs,
Depending on which team you're on,
But that's the game; just take it, son.
The game is either home or away,
Doesn't matter, you better show up and play,
But that's the game, no matter what they say.
The game has its die-hard fans,
Who will yell and scream from the highest stands,
But that's the game; lend a hand.
The game has its ins and outs,
Drop third strike, you better run up a cloud,
But that's the game; help your team out.
The game is either won or lost,
Most try to win at all cost,
But that's the game; show 'em who's boss."

   It's a game for movies, a sport for stories. Really, can you imagine sports movies without "Field of Dreams", "The Sandlot", or "The Rookie"? How many millions of college students grew up playing ball in Tin Can Alley and Dirt Yards with Jocinda Smith, Pablo Sanchez and Tony Delvecchio, as the Super-Duper Wombats faced the Blue Rockets with Sunny Day and Vinnie the Gooch calling the action on Backyard Baseball? And will Charlie Brown's team ever win a game with him pitching? What would we do without the sport to foster our imaginations and pretend that we'll be the hero one day? I may complain about it, and make fun of it often, and usually wonder at all the things that don't make sense about the way the game is played. But it's important to our history, and without the game of baseball, sports would be missing something.