Spring break is over technically in 5 hours, practically in 16 hours at 11AM for my first class Monday. But this break had me thinking, especially with me watching
The Rookie just tonight.
Baseball. America's past time. I've missed it.
I'm glad baseball season is coming up, only the best time of the year. No one can deny the fresh cut grass, the fine dirt that always has a way of showing up in your pants towards the end of the game, the sound of aluminum smattering leather...all of it. Yea Little League, with all 6 innings of action, those early Saturday mornings with the game right next to a girl's softball game, which always was a good 10 times louder than our games...endless cheers, chants, sorority anyone? Just kidding.
So yea I never made it to Pony League, I could have signed up before high school, but I think the whole moving to Torrey Pines made me insanely bitter and therefore, fuck it.
Kinda regret it though. Now, I was no star athlete. Hardly from it. I was a lousy pitcher with a decent curveball and a sloppy splitter, a Mendoza-line hugging batting average, but I thought I was a pretty good baserunner and I covered center field pretty well.
But I guess it takes a good ole baseball movie to make you fall back in love eh?
The Rookie. You know, the one with Dennis Quaid, the one where he throws a baseball past one of those speed limit radar things and it shows up as 76 mph...and then the lights flickers and then it shows as 96. Yea it's magical. But I love that it's based on a real story of a guy, who through tragedy [tearing apart his shoulder in the minor leagues] had to give up on his dream of becoming a baseball player in the majors. Then he goes on to teach science in high school, and through a bet with his baseball team that he coaches [they make the playoffs, he tries out for the pros again] he becomes a Tampa Bay Devil Ray [now just the "Tampa Bay Rays"] and strikes out his first batter. It's magical. Note that he's 35 when he turns pro, I mean it's really only in baseball where you can be so far away from the game, yet always at it's roots.
Roots. Baseball started as a humble game, a Civil War time game with sticks and rocks and soldiers. It grew, got spread to other American military bases around the world like Japan and Korea, and it became more than just a sport, it became a part of their culture too. People view it as such a hard to watch, difficult to understand, and slow game. But behind that, realize the beauty.
Only in baseball do you score when the OPPONENT has the ball. And there is no clock and the game lasts 9 innings, unless there's a tie.It's in their hands. And face it, when they're up 2 strikes on you, it really doesn't matter because you're still good with foul balls and working the count. It's where close counts, but in the game of inches, it all boils down to nerves. The game is truly 90% mental, 10% physical. Sure you can roid it up like Barry Bonds, which increases your bat speed, but in the end it's mental. It's anticipating the pitcher's pitch, watching for spin, watching where his arm delivery comes from, realizing where the fielders are positioned, if there are baserunners, how the fielders hold the runners to their bases. It's a game of inches and everything happens at once. As the pitcher, you have to guess what the batter's guessing. You dictate the speed of the game, and you're grateful for the 7 fielders behind you hoping they'll dive for the ball and hustle for each play.
In basketball, the star player dreams of having 10 seconds left on the clock, and draining that last second fake-out the defender and swish to win the game. In hockey it's one on one with the goalie with 10 seconds wide open ready for a shot. In football it's 10 seconds on the clock, the quarterback scrambling out of the pocket heaving towards his receiver. In baseball, it's not 10 seconds, it's the 3 balls, 2 strikes, bases loaded, bottom of the 9th inning, fireballer pitcher on the mound and you hit the grand slam out of the park to win the game.
I love having no clock. Call the game slow, but I think it takes as long as it needs and that's perfection.
Baseball has the greatest fans, who live and die with each pitch, who realize yes you're supposed to boo at your rival team the WHOLE game. Who desperately don't want Chicago to sell the naming rights to it's beloved Wrigley Field, a beautiful 92 year old park. Then there's Fenway Park in Boston, 4 years older than Wrigley, and just a legend by itself. Hell I even miss good ole Jack Murphy Stadium where the Padres used to play with those beautiful palm trees.
So boys will always be boys. And baseball is just that sport that every father dreams of having his son play, while they play catch in the yard. I hope it forever remains America's past time.
