Spring means for millions of Americans renewed hope. This is not Barack Obama’s sullied ‘hope’, but hope in the sense of untempered optimism, a youthful belief that miracles are possible and the fanciful notion that finally the stars will align and this will be our year. Spring means that our lives will be diverted for three hours each day, mesmerized by new epics, comedies and tragedies with valiant heroes, vile villains, twists, turns, unbridled joy, tortuous heartbreak and through it all a devotion to something greater than ourselves which we have no control over yet irrationally believe that we do. Spring means baseball.
Baseball is the quintessential American game. As with our system of government, baseball took something British and made it better. It started out as an agrarian game played across America’s heartland, and over time evolved like our nation with an influx of immigrants, the addition of the DH (call it welfare) and the institution of the luxury tax (a progressive means of redistribution of course), and though like America it has been blighted with corruption and scandal (Teapot Dome:Black Sox Scandal as Impeachment:Steroids), baseball has retained its fundamental character and charm.
Most importantly, no matter what has happened in our lives, baseball for better or worse has remained a companion during our springs, summers and when we have been lucky, our falls. James Earl Jones beautifully characterized baseball and the hope it brings in Field of Dreams, when he reassured Ray Kinsella (Kevin Costner) that he would not lose his farm:
Ray, people will come Ray. They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won’t mind if you look around, you’ll say. It’s only $20 per person. They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they’ll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh… people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.
The nostalgia we feel for baseball is akin to the nostalgia we feel for this country.
Every generation yearns for a romanticized simpler past, seeking only peace and happiness. This era however seems to be the one in which we have truly lost any semblance of apple pie America. To many of us our culture is devoid of value, our economy dynamism, our national psyche positivity and our people unity.
Being a die hard (and I have died hard) fan of the behated New York Metropolitans, I feel the pangs of pessimism on two fronts. For the first time in my life with my team as with my country, I feel that fate has been sealed before the season has been played out. Logic tells me this is likely so.
As with the American people, all sorts of ills have befallen the Mets. Leaving aside the disarray of our current roster, we were already in shambles as a result of the last three years. We have been dealt excruciating blows to end recent seasons, as the American people have felt the blows of various votes and elections. We have had injuries befall our players as Americans have had injuries befall their businesses. We have felt the effects of the unraveling of the Madoff Ponzi scheme as Americans have felt the effects of the unraveling of the Ponzi economy. We have seen the productive subjugated to the unproductive players as Americans have seen the productive subjugated to the unproductive citizens. We have been cheated by management that has been incompetent, political and valued personal gain over the gains of their fans as the people have been cheated by stewards that have been incompetent, political and valued personal gain over the gains of their constituents.
Yet tomorrow at 1:10PM, school-be-damned, I like generations of Americans before me will find myself glued to a television (in the past I suppose it would have been a a transistor radio), forgetting about the pains of year’s past, and throw myself headlong into my team once again. Inexplicably, I will give my heart to this cast of chokers knowing full well that it will almost assuredly be broken. For at least a few hours, I will have hope that the cursed Mets will remain in first place through October.
In baseball as in life, at times even when every conceivable indicator tells us that all is going to hell, things find a way of working themselves out. This is much easier to say than it is to believe when we are actually faced with struggles, as I can assuredly attest to, but if we step back, we can all think of times when dire circumstances have led us in unpredictable directions that have changed our lives for the better. We can remember how the worst failures have created the most fortuitous opportunities. We can recall those situations when all was dark, yet the sun shone through when we least expected it.
Men are no different from nations. And so for the pessimists among us, I hope that as we celebrate another year of baseball, for a few hours we can forget the negativity, the pain and the suffering that we have felt because of an oppressive government and/or franchise and have some hope and some faith. Even if for only a few moments, let us remember all that was once good and could be again. Let us be reminded that what seems inevitable sometimes proves not to be, and resolutely reaffirm our commitment to a cause in our country that we the people do have control over.
by Andrew Mellon – BigGovernment
Comment:
Cowboy Logic:
Great article!
Baseball. The Eternal Hope of Spring.
Did not Hope, used to spring eternal? That was in another day and time. Before all this change.
There used to be a song, that included: "Baseball, hot-dogs, apple-pie and Chevrolet."
I reckon we must drop Chevrolet from the lyrics, as "Gubment Motors" just doesn't rhyme...
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Breaking: Obama Still Throws Like a Girl...Update: Video Added...Update 2: Dude, I Was Totally Throwing Strikes With Heat Before I Almost Threw The Ball Into Another Zip Code..
Obama and Jarret were greeted with more jeers than cheers today at the Nationals…
From today's Washington Nationals home opener:
Flashback to last year's All Star Game:
How a real man throws a baseball: He threw a strike
Update A: He still throws like a Girl - Update B: He was 10-feet+ outside the strike zone
Update 2: CBS News' Mark Knoller... – High and Wide (He still throws like a girl)
Obama said he was throwing strikes with heat when practicing, but today the ball slipped out of his hand. “It’s heart-breaking,” he said. Not as heart-breaking as his presidency for most of us!
By Mark Knoller – Weasel Zippers
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