As I have mentioned often recently, I am trying to deal with the madness that is Trump in a variety of ways. All of which, in the end, amount to slowing things down.
So far this has involved: tuning out of the 24-hour news cycle and reading more intentionally. Now that it is April, it also involves baseball.
Until the baseball “strike” of 1994-95, baseball was as central to the rhythms of my life as almost anything. The bitter taste of those seasons though, changed all of that for me. And over the years, I drifted further and further away from the game.
Last autumn’s post-season helped remind me why baseball matters. The Cubs, the first Major League team I ever got to watch and follow in person, helped bring me back. And now, when I need it most, I find that baseball is in my life again. I call that grace. And this, after all, is the season of grace.
Baseball seems to me the perfect antidote to Trump and the 24-hour news cycle he dominates. Everything about it– its history, its pace, its long season– reminds us of what we have need of most today.
As part of the process, I have begun a baseball journal that I am keeping this season. In it I am recording notes about games I listen to on my MLB app, games I may watch on television, articles and books I read, and things I remember from 50+ years of loving the game.
Over the summer, some of these notes and thoughts may find their way here.
In the mean time, here are a few baseball quotes. Enjoy!
“Baseball is like church. Many attend, few understand.” ~ Leo Durocher
“No matter how good you are, you’re going to lose one-third of your games. No matter how bad you are you’re going to win one-third of your games. It’s the other third that makes the difference.” ~Tommy Lasorda
“A man has to have goals – for a day, for a lifetime – and that was mine, to have people say, ‘There goes Ted Williams, the greatest hitter who ever lived.” ~ Ted Williams
“Hitting is fifty percent above the shoulders ~ Ted Williams
“Though we thumped, wept, and chanted ‘We want Ted’ for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he refused. Gods do not answer letters.” – John Updike in “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu” (The New Yorker, 10/22/1960)