Baseball and Life

January 2024 

It’s the middle of winter in Michigan.  Last night we had some friends over for dinner.  After dinner, we scrolled through the TV channels to find something to watch.  For some reason we landed on a show called “Baseball”.  Which turned out to be a 1994 documentary miniseries created by filmmaker Ken Burns. About, oddly enough, the history of the sport of baseball.  It was in the middle of the show and in one of the middle episodes of the series.  But we settled in to watch a little of it anyway.  It was enthralling to me! We only watched it for a few minutes and then moved on to something else. But I pushed the record button on my remote. 

After my friends departed, I went back to it. I couldn’t stop watching it!  I watched more of it again this morning.  Nearly the whole time choking back the tears.  Partly because Ken Burns is a genius and knows how to grab your heart strings and pull them.  The way he can weave together great stories, photos, video, and music, as well as interviews, is truly remarkable.  But even more so, this topic, baseball, is one that draws forth emotions from me anyway.  I am certain it does so for many men my age.  At least that is what I have heard.  So, I have sat myself down to ponder why this is so. I start by thinking about a few things I have learned, both from Ken Burns as well as through my personal history. The things that make baseball such a major part of our lives.  Some things that are perhaps uniquely American.

There is no doubt that Baseball has been an integral part of the American past, at least from the late 19th century until the present.  The game provided a backdrop during the migration of America’s rural and agricultural population, to becoming an urban and industrial one.  Which happened between the Civil War and WWII.  It has sewn together significant events in our history and provides a reflection of our multicultural social fabric. In its early years, baseball was a unifying force and the origin of great national pride. It also served as a source of escapism during the many troubled times in American history. Bob Costas once said, “Baseball is proof of God because no man could create a thing so perfect.” I tend to agree.

As a sport, baseball is somewhat of an oddity.  Especially for American’s who generally prefer a lot of scoring, action, and tempo in their sporting events.  It is by nature, a relaxing game that flows at a leisurely pace. While you are watching, it permits plenty of time for conversation or speculation about strategy. If you happen to be listening to it on the radio, or watching it on television, it allows for multitasking.  But optimally, it is at its best when you are at the game itself.

It's exciting to attend a game on a gorgeous summer day or evening. To sit in the fresh air, eat a hot dog, some peanuts, and drink a soda or a beer.  It isn’t like hockey, football, or basketball where you seem to need to always be paying attention.  Or to be frequently up on your feet cheering and screaming. With baseball, you can just sit back and take in the moment.  The surroundings.  Or talk to the people you’re with.  It’s a much more social sport than most. But there are times for cheering as well!

It’s a game that takes place in a ballpark. Note the word “park” is in there because it is a park-like setting, with a carnival like atmosphere. From Little League to Major League this is the case, at least to a certain degree. Within this setting is conducted a highly geometrical sport, one full of symmetry.  It has specific distances that make every park the same. The pitcher's mound being 60 feet and 6 inches from home plate. The bases are 90 feet apart. There is true beauty in the diamond shape and its symmetry. Yet, every park has its own peripheral field dimensions and geography, making each unique. Nuances that allow for every game to have the opportunity for distinctiveness.  

But you don’t have to be there to enjoy it.  The game can be appreciated in many ways, especially at the professional level.  From following the box scores the day after the game, to having the radio on in the background as you do yardwork, to following the highlights on ESPN, or hanging on every pitch on the TV, take your pick.  It’s something you do not have to be totally focused on. Or you can be.  That’s the beauty!  You can have the game on TV, leave and do something else for a while, then come back and restart watching.  It’s almost like you didn’t miss a thing. You can even skip weeks within the season, come back, and start right where you left off.  It’s greater than a 6-month season and every team has 162 games. So, there is always tomorrow. Just sit back and relax.

Yes, it is a relaxing game.  Yet, within a baseball game lies one of the most intense moments in all sports.  A dramatic moment of a game within the game. And this event happens multiple times in each contest, and it is one of the most extraordinary duels in athletics.  That, of course, is the pitcher against the batter. No matter what else is going on, every single play in baseball begins with that one event.  An instant measured in milliseconds, in which virtually anything can happen.  Literally in the blink of an eye.

There is nothing in sports like when the pitcher winds up and releases the ball. Generally, in the Major leagues, at a speed between 75 and 105 miles per hour. Time seems to stand still in that fraction of a second. Breathtakingly exciting for such a relaxing game! Whether you are in attendance or thousands of miles away.  Hearing, “and the pitch…, he swings and it’s a….”  You can finish that sentence with a thousand different phrases.

What really adds to all of this is that baseball has a certain mythical quality to it. The stuff of legend.  Iconic heroes long gone but not forgotten. Epic plays, incredible moments etched in our memories, even though they may have occurred long before we were even born. Baseball has a rich history and a cultural significance that seems to go beyond the sport itself. It connects us with the past.  Provides strong memories of our own past.

Yes, it seems everyone has a memory linked to baseball.  Whether it stems from playing it, listening to it on the radio, watching it on TV, or going to a game. There is a recollection in there.  And it’s usually a good one.  When you are playing it, or watching it, you feel connected to its history in a very real way. It is also a game that our fathers have passed on to their sons and daughters, now going back generations. So, baseball has a magic about it in that way for so many. A true link into familial history.

For me, having played baseball for many years, from early youth through adulthood, there are strong memories that have stuck with me through time.  Emotive recollections of the carefree summer days of my youth. Nearly 40 years have passed since I stepped on a field, but they all seem like they happened last week. Each revolves around different aspects of being a ball player.  From putting on the unique uniform. To tying my cleats and the sound those metal spikes made as you walked onto the field. To the magical feeling of my glove, and my bat. To the feeling in my stomach on gameday. How my senses seemed to be on fire as I prepared to take the field!

I vividly remember the smell of the grass, my glove, the dugout. The hotdogs and popcorn cooking at the concession stand. The contrast of a blue sky against the green grass. The beautiful days, with the sun on your back or face. A white ball lifted mightily into the air.  The sound of the ball hitting the glove or the bat, or the crowd’s roar at a great play in the field. The crackle of the PA system as your name is announced and you approach home plate. The feel of the dirt in the batter’s box. The sting of a ball hitting your bat on a cold spring day.  Better yet, the way you hardly feel the ball hit your bat at all when you really connect with it.  The taste of the sunflower seeds packed in your cheek, or dirt in your mouth as you dive safely into second base. Thinking about all of this now takes me right back there, to those moments in time. 

This is what makes me love the game. The fact that I was personally a part of it. And successfully so, at least in my own small way.  It was a game in which I was often the hero, sometimes the goat.  I hit a few huge home runs. I had big hits and game saving catches.  I also made errors and struck out at critical times.  I pitched and won and pitched and lost. My teams were champions yet, more frequently, defeated. All of this has created enduring memories for me, and provided experiences that changed me.  And for me, those experiences have turned out to be a little like life itself.  Let’s just say, valuable lessons were learned that I have applied many times over the years to other facets of my existence.

That’s why I love the game.  But if I stop trying to avoid thinking about it, I know exactly why baseball elicits such deep feelings in me.  The singular, most important piece of the emotional puzzle.  Baseball was the one thing in my life that my dad was there for. That one thing we did together. We played catch when I was little.  He pitched to me when I could barely swing a bat.  He listened to games on the radio on warm summer nights sitting on the patio, with my brother and me playing catch in the yard.  As his health was failing, we watched games together on TV.  Some of my most vivid memories of my youth are of the games he took my brother and me to.  Always at Tiger Stadium in Detroit.  A venue thick with history. Usually, a twilight double header so we could get two games in from one trip.  He loved his Detroit Tigers until he died. And now I love them for him. As does his grandson.

He was also there, sitting in his truck, or in the stands, during my many games. At least the games he could get to.  I can close my eyes and still see him sitting there.  No, he didn’t cheer.  He didn’t congratulate me on my successes or berate me on my failures. He didn’t try to coach or advise me. Nor did he offer comfort after a tough game.  I don’t remember him ever saying a thing.  But he was there.  My fan. And I could tell he was living vicariously through me.  That he was proud of me.  That is the sweetest, most cherished memory of all.  That is a gift that he keeps on giving me, every time I allow myself to recollect it. Frankly, it was really the only true connection I had with my father.  Baseball.  And I can live with that. 

Thank you, Ken Burns, for your wonderful documentary and awakening in me, during this long cold winter, the warm, summertime feeling of baseball.  Bringing back the memories and, for me, the powerful emotions that go with them. I bet with a high level of confidence, this is also the case for many other ageing, former athletes out there. Trying to hold on to the memories, the “glory days”, that baseball has given us in our lives. The energy and spirit that “America’s Pastime” has had for so many, for so long. Enduring through generations. Forever.