Balancing

Over the past week, I watched television coverage of the 2016 election interference trial of Donald Trump in New York for many hours. And while I get the logic of the case, it seems to me that prosecutors are asking the jury to take a pretty big leap in order to secure a conviction.

I’ll get back to that, but all of that sedentary time focusing on a deeply depressing matter was getting me a bit down myself. Normally, I try to be a cheerful person, at least outwardly, and there’s plenty to be cheerful about — my children and grandchildren, the spring-like weather, talks and outings with friends, and the start of the baseball season.

On Friday, just as the trial-watching was becoming tedious, my son Peter texted me asking if I would like to go to that night’s baseball game featuring the San Francisco Giants and the Pittsburg Pirates.

“Yes!”

The two of us share a long tradition of going to Giants’ games, stretching back well over 30 years. Once, I’d used my press credential to get his hero, Will Clark, to sign his rookie card for Peter’s 11th birthday present.

***

Besides all of the Trump-related dramas in the news, large protests against the war in Gaza have been spreading to college campuses across the country. As a former anti-war protester myself, my natural sympathy was initially with the protesters.

But not when some of them begin to celebrate Hamas and its terrorism, or when they chanted antisemitic tropes. It’s one thing to oppose the war; quite another to embrace the enemy.

That reminds me of when the antiwar movement of my youth began celebrating North Vietnam’s Communist leadership and its killing of American troops.

I was against the war but rooting for the enemy was a step too far for me. Soon after that realization, I left protesting behind and embraced journalism instead. I was 18 at the time.

***

Youthful passions are beautiful. They also can be reckless, excessive, poetic, magical, scary, difficult and inspiring. All at the same time.

One of the things young people do, generation after generation, is play sports. My oldest son, Peter, played Little League baseball, so did one of my other sons, Aidan, as do some of my grandchildren.

Long-time readers may recall my grandson Oliver who became a star on his Little League team two years ago. Well now he is 12 and an even bigger star. The other night he hit his first home run. My daughter, his Mom, sent me the video.

***

The problem with the New York trial is that it appears to be the weakest of the four criminal cases against Trump. They all relate to his efforts to subvert our democracy one way or the other, but this so-called “hush money” case is the least direct and the hardest to understand of the four.

I’m not sure the prosecution is going to prevail in this case, but at least the visual cues of Trump standing behind the low bars of the police fence at the courtroom are sending a subliminal message of where that guy belongs.

Meanwhile the war in Gaza with all its terrible toll on innocent civilians, may be one of the biggest factors in this year’s election. Biden could well lose to Trump unless he abandons his “iron-clad” support for Israel.

***
The baseball game my son and I attended turned out to be a thriller. The score remained 0-0 for inning after inning until in the bottom of the 9th, the Giants’ young catcher Patrick Bailey hit a walk-off, 3-run homer far into the night sky.

Then, on Saturday, we went down to San Jose to see Oliver play an afternoon game, As I sat in the stands rooting for him and his team, Olle put on a show. In his first at bat, he doubled in a run and later scored. In his second at bat he doubled again and later scored.

But he saved the best for last. In his final at bat, with two teammates on the bases, he smashed a long home run over the center field fence, closing out a win for his team.

***

Sometimes it seems as if all this is by some grand plan. 

Afterward, thinking about all of these things, I decided that in the end, life is a balancing act and it’s good to know how to keep it all in perspective — everything, always, no matter what.