Baseball Generates Hope
"It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone." - A. Bartlett Giamatti, "The Green Fields of the Mind," Yale Alumni Magazine, November 1977
As March turned to April and spring training ended as the regular season began, baseball has started anew.
More than a week into the season, the games have been filled with special moments. Casey McGehee's walkoff HR for Milwaukee enraptured that Brewers home crowd on opening day at that stadium. Arizona had a 13-run inning against Pittsburgh, who surprised the world by winning its first series against the L.A. Dodgers, a squad that made the postseason a year ago. There was C.C. Sabathia throwing no-hit ball for 7 2/3 innings against Tampa Bay and Jason Heyward of Atlanta beginning his major league career with a mammoth home run. Jason Kubel christened Target Field with the stadium's first ever HR and the Detroit Tigers rallied from a 7-1 deficit and won 9-8 on a wild pitch in the bottom of the ninth against Cleveland. Yes, the Tigers won despite leaving 18 runners on base (two shy of the record).
With all the joy in Mudville, baseball fans have also felt the rage of Casey. Disappointment was evident in Boston with its 3-4 start and in Houstin where a 0-6 start almost gurantees that the Astros will be forgotten before June.
Yet, as baseball fans, our hope is carefree. True partisans of teams absolutely believe that their nine will win every day. When that fails, we always have the hope for tomorrow. The next game, the next series and then eventually the next season (right Cub fans) will right the course if somehow our team strays down the wrong path.
Baseball is Americana. It is breakfast in the morning, lunch at noon, or dinner at night. It is with us everyday, whether we are mowing our backyards or cheerfully imbibing at the local taven. Whether it is attending in person, viewing the websites that carry game blogs or gametrackers to games on radio and if you we are lucky, TV, we are drawn to baseball.
Baseball is the fastball that smacks the catcher's pud; the crack of the bat and an outfielder racing for the ball in the corner; the outfielder cutting off a ball and then sending it back in flight to catch the runner moving from first to third. It is the hand signals from coaches that tells players to hit and run, steal or take a pitch. And, baseball is the father and son playing catch and then going to the ballpark for the magical environment of the game. Baseball, too, is the roar of the crowd, which regenerates every inning of every game.
Baseball is a game that surely tests our heart and soul. The game is full of challenges that can try our soul and of opportunities that lift us up.
Everytime I tune in Tigers baseball, I get charged up. It makes me feel good to hear my favorite team play. It also reminds me of those that I miss like Ernie Harwell and Sparky Anderson. Whitaker and Trammell...Kirk Gibson...Al Kaline and Mickey Lolich. And, reminds me of those I appreciate today such as Justin Verlander, Maggs and Miquel Cabera as well as Derek Jeter and Joe Mauer, Albert Pujols and Mariano Rivera. When my team, the Tigers, win, I am esctatic, no matter where I am at - home, work or elsewhere.
With the joy, we, too, encounter disappointment. No team wins them all. But whether winning or losing, the longer the game goes allows us to hope for that great rally or that walk-off shot to the moon or that our stopper serves his role.
While Giamatti talked of disappointment with the coming and going of the game, for me, my spirit is renewed with America's national pasttime. For me, the baseball is defined through its whirlwind of hope. The anticipation of something good and the hope that Casey will not strike out but make a game-winning hit.
Baseball is back and when it ends this fall, whether I have a team in the Series or not, I know that the days and nights of baseball have captured my heart and renewed my spirit in believing anything is possible (Yes, even in the Cubs winning the World Series).
As March turned to April and spring training ended as the regular season began, baseball has started anew.
More than a week into the season, the games have been filled with special moments. Casey McGehee's walkoff HR for Milwaukee enraptured that Brewers home crowd on opening day at that stadium. Arizona had a 13-run inning against Pittsburgh, who surprised the world by winning its first series against the L.A. Dodgers, a squad that made the postseason a year ago. There was C.C. Sabathia throwing no-hit ball for 7 2/3 innings against Tampa Bay and Jason Heyward of Atlanta beginning his major league career with a mammoth home run. Jason Kubel christened Target Field with the stadium's first ever HR and the Detroit Tigers rallied from a 7-1 deficit and won 9-8 on a wild pitch in the bottom of the ninth against Cleveland. Yes, the Tigers won despite leaving 18 runners on base (two shy of the record).
With all the joy in Mudville, baseball fans have also felt the rage of Casey. Disappointment was evident in Boston with its 3-4 start and in Houstin where a 0-6 start almost gurantees that the Astros will be forgotten before June.
Yet, as baseball fans, our hope is carefree. True partisans of teams absolutely believe that their nine will win every day. When that fails, we always have the hope for tomorrow. The next game, the next series and then eventually the next season (right Cub fans) will right the course if somehow our team strays down the wrong path.
Baseball is Americana. It is breakfast in the morning, lunch at noon, or dinner at night. It is with us everyday, whether we are mowing our backyards or cheerfully imbibing at the local taven. Whether it is attending in person, viewing the websites that carry game blogs or gametrackers to games on radio and if you we are lucky, TV, we are drawn to baseball.
Baseball is the fastball that smacks the catcher's pud; the crack of the bat and an outfielder racing for the ball in the corner; the outfielder cutting off a ball and then sending it back in flight to catch the runner moving from first to third. It is the hand signals from coaches that tells players to hit and run, steal or take a pitch. And, baseball is the father and son playing catch and then going to the ballpark for the magical environment of the game. Baseball, too, is the roar of the crowd, which regenerates every inning of every game.
Baseball is a game that surely tests our heart and soul. The game is full of challenges that can try our soul and of opportunities that lift us up.
Everytime I tune in Tigers baseball, I get charged up. It makes me feel good to hear my favorite team play. It also reminds me of those that I miss like Ernie Harwell and Sparky Anderson. Whitaker and Trammell...Kirk Gibson...Al Kaline and Mickey Lolich. And, reminds me of those I appreciate today such as Justin Verlander, Maggs and Miquel Cabera as well as Derek Jeter and Joe Mauer, Albert Pujols and Mariano Rivera. When my team, the Tigers, win, I am esctatic, no matter where I am at - home, work or elsewhere.
With the joy, we, too, encounter disappointment. No team wins them all. But whether winning or losing, the longer the game goes allows us to hope for that great rally or that walk-off shot to the moon or that our stopper serves his role.
While Giamatti talked of disappointment with the coming and going of the game, for me, my spirit is renewed with America's national pasttime. For me, the baseball is defined through its whirlwind of hope. The anticipation of something good and the hope that Casey will not strike out but make a game-winning hit.
Baseball is back and when it ends this fall, whether I have a team in the Series or not, I know that the days and nights of baseball have captured my heart and renewed my spirit in believing anything is possible (Yes, even in the Cubs winning the World Series).
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