With the-crack-of-the-bat, and God speaking through Ernie Harwell or Vin Scully – I have the annual Spring Sense that everything-is-right-in-the-world: like Linus sucking on his thumb and holding his blanket.
I grew up with the Detroit Tigers and can still pretty much name the Tigers 1968 World Series Team. So, too, can I name most of the 1988 Dodgers (interesting that my two favorite teams won these memorable series 20 years apart [not to forget the Tigers 1984 championship where I watched the Tigs defeat the Padres in 5 relatively unimportant games {but I don’t remember those Tigers quite as well – except for Gibby, Trammel & Sweet Lou}]). Was Senor Smoke still around for this series?
But I can’t forget ol’ Kirk Gibson: The Michigander who hit the most memorable home run in Dodger history and who I believe is currently managing the Arizona Diamondbacks. I remember watching Gibby play football for Michigan State with Wife #1. Perhaps ironically, Wife #2 was in Gibby’s father’s class at Waterford Mott H.S.; but she, caused me to miss the home run that made baseball history (it happened on Sweetest Day in 1988). Yep. I was supposed to be more focused on Sweetest Day than watching the Dodgers in the World Series (against Oakland) at the ol’ Pacos Tacos. Well, I’m glad that baseball has always taken precedence over everything and anything, and somehow, allows me to forget all the bullshit that goes on around me and engender that fuzzy blanket belief that everything will turn out all right.
It’s such a pristine and logical game that is pretty difficult to fuck up: You can get back at anyone you feel has done you wrong – whether it’s a throw-back pitch or payback pitch; ejecting a manager; beaning an ump or opposing player; or, sliding hard with those spikes up. It’s also perfectly evolved for television – whereby commercials can be aired during inning changes and thereby don’t disrupt the flow of the game — unlike football and basketball; where it feels like 20 seconds of action (or less) is separated by 5 minutes of commercial.
Baseball haters say that the game is slow and boring – like watching paint dry on the wall. What they don’t understand (and will never appreciate) is: the game within the game within the game. How many of your opponents’ weaknesses have you scouted? Are your pitchers on, or, are they hung over? Is the opposing pitcher throwing stuff that even your best hitters can’t touch? Are you trying to play long ball or short ball? Do you have enough relievers and utility men to play the percentages? It’s a mother fuckin’ chess game that never grows old for me and for countless millions.
“Take me out to the ball game…” Who cares what the Taliban are up too? What China is planning? What kind of underwear Mitt Romney has on? Whether Dick Cheney has a new heart? Who Lindsay Lohan his ripped off? “…Just buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack – I don’t care if I never get back.”
And why should I care about getting anywhere? When Vin is on the radio, I welcome slow traffic, or even a Sig Alert…with Vin, I can stay lost in that baseball moment – and be that much closer to heaven…