Play Ball!

Last night I had a dream that I wrote my entire blog post about quorums — explaining what they are and why they important. Now, in the light of day, I assume one of the following applies to you:

a) You already know what a quorum is. You can even explain why it is One Good Thing, so you don’t need me for that.

b) You don’t know what a quorum is, and you have no desire to know at this precise moment (and, anyway, you can always look it up).

c) You really don’t care.

So, let’s talk about baseball instead.

Photo by Wendy Scofield on Unsplash

This past Sunday, I attended a church service that was all about baseball. Baseball was, of course, the conceit for talking about something deeper, namely, love and transformation. Love and transformation are good things, indeed.

I come from a baseball-loving family. I didn’t inherit that particular gene, so I never took much to watching the games on television. I do enjoy going to games, however. Or, at least I once did when I could afford tickets. I haven’t been in decades because the cost is prohibitive. But, back in the day, my father used to take our family to at least one Red Sox game every year. He taught me how to keep track of the at-bats in the booklet you could buy once you were at Fenway Park.

The slowness of the game drives me around the bend during television broadcasts (complete with the endless chatter of beer commercials and the like). But that same slowness adds to the mystique if you attend in person. You take your seat, and you know you will be there for a while. You can relax, let your burdens fall away, and focus on something as inconsequential as the plays and the score. (Okay, I know that if you love baseball, the score is far from inconsequential. But, in my world, the score really doesn’t matter. What matters is the fun of just being there.)

I was delighted when one of our local poets composed this poem about baseball and read it herself at the church service this past Sunday. The poem evokes so many of those wonderful memories of my father in particular and my family in general, not to mention the spirit of the game itself.

Photo by Taylor Rooney on Unsplash

Just imagine a world where all of us here are enough. Where the colors are enough, and the field’s actions are enough. Where our awareness is enough, and our messages are enough. Where there is enough food and drink, hot or cold as it should be. Where there is enough kind patience. Imagine a world where we trustingly and generously pass the hot dogs and cash, and we boo and cheer — together. That might be just enough for me in this current time of mayhem, authoritarianism, and vile lying invective.

I won’t try to duplicate what the baseball aficionado leading the church service offered on Sunday. You kind of had to be there. But I do want to share a couple of stories from the sports world that illustrate the beauty of playing, especially where there are sometimes seemingly fierce opponents involved.

First, here’s a story my brother told me yesterday. When his son, my nephew, was little — maybe a first or second grader — he played on a basketball team. My brother remembered one particular game when a foul shot was called. The score was tight and the potential additional point seemed all-important. So, everyone — teammates and parents watching the game — were surprised when the coach picked the team’s weakest player to take the shot. The little boy was challenged in some way, so everyone held their breath when he took the ball into his hands and aimed for the basket. Swish! The ball sailed through the air and landed just right. The team got the point, and the little boy was swarmed by his ecstatic teammates — a moment rare and thrilling for him.

That 30 or so years ago. My brother told me he ran into that coach the other day and asked him if he remembered that moment. “Oh, yes,” Coach said, “I remember.” He then went on to tell my brother that that little boy, now grown up, is a basketball coach in the Special Olympics. Was it that foul shot that helped him to understand he was enough, just as he was? Was it that coach who chose him above all the others at that important moment who gave him confidence that he carried forward? We’ll never know, but these days that little boy, now a young man, devotes himself to helping other youngsters who are challenged in various ways to understand that they are enough just as they are, too.

The second memory, a baseball memory, still makes me teary-eyed when I think about it. Having lived my entire life in Red Sox Nation, I have always, by definition, “hated” the New York Yankees, the Red Sox archrivals. Sox fans love to hate the Yankees. Yankees fans love to hate the Sox. That’s just the way things are.

I use the word “hate” advisedly here, because, of course, in reality, I don’t hate the Yankees. Most years, I probably couldn’t even name any of them! And anyway, the Red Sox and the Yankees are just ball teams, after all. They are just playing games. What’s to hate? I suspect the same goes for anyone who harbors extreme feelings about their team’s archrivals. They don’t really hate them. It’s just a game.

Well, back in 2013, the famed Boston Marathon was the site of a horrific terrorist bombing attack. Some were killed, many were injured, and even more were deeply, deeply traumatized. In the ensuing four and a half days, the hunt for the terrorists shut down the entire city of Boston. “Shelter in place” became a new part of people’s vocabulary, as everyone hid behind locked doors, waiting for the attackers to be captured.

Well, if you know anything about the Boston Red Sox, you know that, singing (with gusto!) Neil Diamond’s song “Sweet Caroline” at Red Sox games has become a tradition over the last couple of decades or so. After the Boston Marathon attack, baseball teams all across the nation had “Sweet Caroline” played during their games as a gesture of sympathy and support for Boston. Sweetest of all was when Yankees fans sang the song at Yankee Stadium. That day, the Yankees were playing the Arizona Diamondbacks, not the Boston Red Sox. But still, Boston’s song rang out from the stands:

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(See? Okay, now I am wiping my eyes. I told you that story still affects me on a deep, deep level.)

We need our opponents to play against, I guess. People seem to know instinctively how to sort themselves into teams and supposed rivalries. But we also know an important, deeper truth — that playing together and even playing against each other — we somehow end up all on the same team anyway. If only we would recognize it. If only we would remember it. We’re all in this together.

Love,

Sylvia