I have to say that I really enjoy this time of year. The weather is warmer (though now it’s cooling off with lots of rain). The grass is green and growing (along with the weeds), the trees all have leaves, flowers are beginning to sprout and in some cases bloom, and baseball is well underway.
Baseball has always been a favorite sport of mine. I never was very good at playing it. I still can’t throw a ball very well. But I do love watching baseball. Whether it is the Cardinals or Zach’s baseball team, I enjoy watching and admiring the players do what I never seemed to be able to do well. Oh, I also enjoy watching Rachel play softball, but it’s a different game and quite unlike what you get in baseball.
The last few Springs I’ve taken the time to watch the classic documentary series by Ken Burns that was on PBS many years ago simply called Baseball. If you’ve never had the opportunity to watch it, I encourage you to do so. It’s quite lengthy (about two to two and a half hours per episode). There are nine “Innings” or episodes to the documentary. It begins with the roots of baseball through the turn of the 1900s, then an Inning per decade until you reach the 70s and 80s which are also combined. It’s packed full of names you may never have heard of and feats of talent that will make the baseball lover in you turn green with envy.
One of the things that I love about baseball is how it endures and continues without much major change. The rules are pretty much the same as they have always been since the beginning, with the exception of that dastardly thing called the designated hitter (don’t get me started on that). Through two world wars and a conflict or two thrown in for good measure, through the Great Depression and other economic downturns, through scandals and owners blocking out African-Americans and treating its players no better than slaves, through all sorts of things that could destroy anything else, baseball survives. And you can see the joy that it gives to the players, the fans (especially the kids), the young and old alike, baseball has a way of making things better, if only for a few hours (or longer if you go into the 20th inning).
Baseball is that thing that sometimes frustrates you to the breaking point. The decisions that a manager or player makes (or doesn’t make), the inability to “catch a break” with a hit, or to see the opposing team get that hit that just seems to barely get over the fielder’s glove can be maddening. But then you see that catch that no one thought could be caught, or you get a double play when it is needed most. You hear the sound of a bat that connects to a hard-hit ball that sales over the fence, and everything is right in the world once again.
You see, baseball is all about getting home, and not just getting home, but getting home safe. To make it home safely, where your friends greet you with a clap on the back, a high five, or an exploding fist (something that Zach taught me). That’s what we all really want. To be home safely with family and friends who love and care for you, no matter what you have done in the past. Is there anything more enjoyable than baseball?
