Friday, April 28, 2023

Baseball Therapy

(I first published an earlier version of this piece 17 years ago.)

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 a bit of comfort.

It's a complicated game that involves multiple skills, communication including sign language, 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 very forgiving sport, sort of like certain religions. 

But, in the actual moment of a game 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 team sports. That's probably why it is the consummate American pastime, here in the land of the rugged individual, where supermen and superwomen try to pretend they can make it on their own.

I have so many baseball memories and so many journal entries I could write ten books on this subject, and maybe someday 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 were and are star players on their teams.

I also have played softball on a coed, slow-pitch team called the Michigan Mafia since the late '70s (note: 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.

But those are for another day.

A few years ago, when I first was again a single man after my second marriage ended, I used to take the women I dated to baseball games. It was one way to find out whether we could enjoy being together, a test of sorts, you know?

Some of them didn't have a clue what was going on. Others did.

One special friend went out with me to a night game in 2004. We sat in the centerfield bleachers. She got very excited at the game and by all the noise and stimulation. I couldn’t tell whether she knew what was going on or not until I started seeing the whole scene through her eyes, not mine. 

The key moment came when she explained that she had spotted another woman nearby with copper-colored hair. "That's the color hair I want," she stated emphatically. 

I can't remember the score of that game or which team won, but I can report that after that game, my friend got her hair changed to that copper color, more or less. That turned out to be the only game we attended together, but we did embark upon a lovely relationship.

As for baseball, maybe I'll go back to the park tomorrow night, and perhaps lots of more times this summer. But if this post was about baseball, I got lost somewhere around second base.

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