Baseball Therapy

Tonight, an old friend invited me to go see the Giants play the Cubs in China Basin, my first game of this season. Baseball has beeen a passion for me since as far back as I can remember (the '50s) when Al Kaline of the Detroit Tigers was my hero. Since moving to San Francisco in the '70s, and having kids, I've transformed into a Giants fan, but really it is baseball itself that I love. I've often turned to it in times of trouble for comfort.

It's a complicated game that involves multiple skills, communication, strategy, patience, statistics, and good instincts. For players, it requires courage and selflessness. It's a game that teaches you about how to lose and move on. And how there always will be another chance to do well, even after your worst mistakes. In this way, it is a forgiving sport. But, at the moment that you stand alone, bat in hand facing a terrifying pitcher; or, alternatively, stand alone on the mound facing a terrifying batter; it's the loneliest of all individual sports. That's why it is the "American" pastime, here in the land of the rugged individual, supermen and superwomen pretending they can make it on their own.

Tonight the Giants beat the Cubs, 6-1. Two old franchises. Barry Bonds just missed hitting his 714th homerun, the one that would have tied Babe Ruth. Maybe he'll do it tomorrow night.

I have so many baseball memories and journal entries I could write ten books on this subject, and maybe I will. For the past five little league seasons, I've helped coach my son Aidan. Years ago, I used to attend every game his big brother, Peter, played as a little leaguer. Both are stars.

I also have played softball on a coed, slow-pitch team called the Michigan Mafia since the late '70s(I am not a star); and I manage a (very weak) fantasy baseball team called the Mud Lake Mafia. There are stories behind all of these teams and names.

A few years ago, when I first was single after my second marriage ended, I used to take girls to baseball games. It was one way to find out whether we could enjoy being together, a test of sorts, you know? (I had always been concerned about my compatibility with my dear second wife when at the first game we attended together she asked whether a double play meant "two men on second base" and also whether the teams had enough balls to cover all of those fouls that went sailing into the stands. We did break up, but not because of that.)

Some of the new women I escorted didn't have a clue what was going on, especially those who came from other countries. Others did.

Then, one very special woman went out with me to a night game in 2004. We sat in the centerfield bleachers. She got very excited at the game by all the noise and stimulation. I forgot to notice whether she knew what was going on or not, as I started seeing the scene through her eyes. The most memorable moment came when she spotted another woman nearby with copper-colored hair. "That's the color hair I want," she stated emphatically. I can't even remember the score of that game or which team won.

But, after that game, she got that color, more or less. And still has it, two years later.

And it still looks good on her.

So, maybe I'll go back to the park tomorrow night, and then lots of more times this summer. The Giants are an exciting team, and Barry Bonds is the greatest show on earth. And if you think this post is about baseball, I've got some beachfront property in East Bilxoi to sell you, on the cheap.

Just throw me one down the middle of the plate.