I love baseball. I played baseball from Little League to Babe Ruth (I grew up in Minnesota and Babe Ruth is that state’s version of Teeners) on up to college ball. I mainly was a first baseman, on occasion played second base, rarely the outfield, once in a blue moon as a starting pitcher and often came in on the mound in relief. In college, I “played” my freshman year and then didn’t rejoin the team in later years. I had unrealistic expectations of playing time. I rode the bench my freshman year in college and on occasion was a pinch runner. I also had gravely over estimated my abilities, which were considerable in my little suburb of St. Paul Park but didn’t compare to the other athletes who played college ball, so I bowed to the inevitable and “retired” from playing the game with a little dignity.
The most contented day of my marriage occurred at Nationals Park in Washington, D.C. on a summer’s day a decade or so ago. The temperature was a cool 80 degrees sitting in the shade in the stands with a gentle breeze wafting over the afternoon crowd. My beautiful wife was sitting next to me, a rarity as she finds baseball about as exciting as watching paint dry, with her long tanned legs extended on the backs of the empty seats in front of her. We were in Washington, D.C. for another of Julie’s National Science Foundation functions. The Washington Nationals were taking on my favorite National League team, the New York Mets. The Mets won, Julie seemed to enjoy the game (it was the last baseball game she has ever attended with me) and I treasure the experience.
Baseball is a metaphor for life. First of all, there are no time limits like in other sports. Other sports have specified periods, and the clock runs out. Baseball has no such thing. The shortest baseball game occurred in 1916 between the Ashville Tourists and the Winston-Salem Twins. Their nine inning game took 31 minutes to play. The fastest Major League Baseball game was September 28, 1919 when the New York Giants and the Philadelphia Phillies recorded 51 outs in 51 minutes. The longest game was a AAA League game between the Pawtucket Red Sox and the Rochester Red Wings which lasted 33 innings, was played over two days (April 18-19, 1981) and took 8 hours and 25 minutes to complete. In 1984, the Chicago White Sox and the Milwaukee Brewers went 25 innings, and the list goes on.
Life is like that. There are some lives that are cut short and others that go on and on. The oldest living person in the world right now is Maria Branyas of Spain. She is 117 and a half years old. Assuming a modicum of clean living, a healthy diet, a bit of exercise and a little common sense, a person can extend their life but none of us knows when the sand is going to run out of our individual hour glass. Like baseball, there are no artificial time limits in life. There are circumstances that can cut a ball game short – rain, lightning, a fire in the stadium or some other one off event and so too in the game of life – suicide, a heart attack, cancer or other disease, accidents, criminal acts etc. can end a life prematurely.
One plays different positions in life, as in baseball. Often an individual is many things at once, a spouse, lover, friend, companion, parent, relative, coworker, citizen etc. Those different positions require different skills and attitudes. Sometimes one is the pitcher, while at other times one plays the role of catcher.
Mothers are the shortstops of life. Always expected to handle whatever comes their way, including the line drives, short hops and bad bounces of daily living. Siblings are the second basemen of existence. They’re in a support role, to make sure nothing gets by them and to assist their brothers and sisters in the double plays of life (their antics, simple deceptions of parents and us vs. them attitude to the outside world – you get the picture).
Grandparents are the outfielders. Lots of standing around, waiting to be called on to chase down a child or to respond to an emergency or to prevent misfortune from scoring on the family.
Dads are the third basemen, responsible for handling the hot corner of life. Fielding the sharply hit challenges and crises, with that rocket arm response and steady throw to extinguish the threat and to save the day.
Friends are the first basemen of existence. Always there, always reliable, ready to receive the ball of tidings, feelings, and events of those on the field of life with them.
Aunts and Uncles are the players on the bench, ready to come in to relieve and assist when called upon to do so.
I’ll close with this quote. I don’t know who said it, I imagine it is another from that famous philosopher “Anonymous”.
“In baseball, as in life, all the important things happen at home.”