Play Ball

Baseball is back! From the time the snow starts flying, I look forward to the start of spring training. That helps me get through the dead of winter, knowing that at some point in the not-too-distant future, in far off, warm, sunny places, men are playing baseball. So while there is snow on the ground here in Massachusetts and most of us don’t want to spend too much time outside, they’re playing baseball in Florida and Arizona. As spring training goes on I start looking forward to Opening Day.

When I was a kid, Opening Day for the Boston Red Sox meant a couple of things: Spring was officially here and my baseball season was just around the corner. I loved baseball so much growing up that I truly wanted to be a major league baseball player. I played with anyone who wanted to play, even if it was just playing a game of catch. I played any time someone wanted to play, even if it was so cold that I still needed a winter jacket to keep warm. Heck, I loved baseball so much I played all by myself by making up games. I would throw a rubber ball off the house and catch the “grounders” that came back to me. I would throw the ball up in the air as high as I could and catch the “fly balls” hit to me. Once I started Little League, I don’t think I missed more than a couple of practices and never missed games. I just loved to play ball.

The cool thing about Opening Day is that every team is equal. Sure, everyone is 0 – 0, but at least for one day every team is the same. Until the games are played, every team has an equal chance to win it all, even if odds-makers say Pittsburgh or Cleveland have no chance. At least for the first day, every team has a chance to win it all. When a team that has been given absolutely no chance to win half their games, let alone the World Series, pulls off a come from behind, walk-off Opening Day victory, their fans start to think, “Maybe this is our year!” In most cases, a month later they’re saying, “Wait ‘til next year.”

Another thing that comes to mind regarding Opening Day is hope. Who doesn’t hope that their favorite team wins the World Series? I don’t know anyone who says, “I hope my team comes in last place this year.” No, everyone wants their team to WIN. When I was in Little League and Babe Ruth League, I hoped my team would win the championship that year. I was lucky enough to play in two championships and win one of them and it was incredible to be a champion. Even though I thought it would never happen, I was able to see the Red Sox actually win not one, but two, World Series. Many people went to their grave waiting to see the Red Sox as champions, yet I got to see it happen. It’s something I won’t forget.  

Here’s the thing about baseball and all sports: You’ve got to go out and play and win the games! Just because your team is picked to win it all, doesn’t mean it will happen. Just because your team has the most talent, doesn’t mean it will be the best team. There are injuries to deal with, slumps, bad breaks and sometimes everything just comes together all at once for another team and they win. It’s a long season. What could have been and should have been wasn’t.

There are parallels to life itself. Some people are designated to be successful when they’re younger because they’re so talented, intelligent, handsome/beautiful, or driven. But you still need to get out there and live your life and fulfill those possibilities (I would say potential but I actually hate that word because it has a negative connotation to me, like you’re a failure if you don’t live up to what someone else thinks about you. Maybe that will be a post at some point in the future.). As in sports, there are injuries in life to deal with, slumps where things just don’t go your way, bad breaks that are out of your control and times where everything just comes together for someone else instead of you. It’s very easy to be all smiles and happy when everything is going your way, but how about when it’s not going your way, when it seems that everything you’re trying is failing? Do you want to just give up, throw in the towel and quit? If we’re honest with ourselves, we’ve all been there.

I know I’ve been there a few times. But somewhere in the back of my head I heard my Dad telling me that you finish what you start; that if you make a commitment to something, you give it your best effort and see it through to the end. Sometimes just starting something is a victory. Sometimes just finishing what you started is a victory. For some people, just making it through life is a victory. As I get older, I find myself not looking at the scoreboard of life as much as I used to. Instead, I find myself just enjoying the game, life, a whole lot more. Enjoying life – that’s a victory in my book.  

Spring Is In the Air

Spring is in the air. There’s about a million birds around my neighborhood, chirping away like they’re on "Bird Idol" and gathering stuff for their nests. The grass, while not what I’d call green yet, is starting to come alive. We’ve even had a couple of days where I didn’t need to wear a jacket! This being New England, those days were followed by temperatures in the 30’s again, which felt even colder after having been in the high 60’s or 70’s. The first day of spring was last Sunday, so of course we got some snow on Monday. I would have been surprised if it didn’t snow.

The biggest difference, however, has been the number of people outside. People are actually going outside for longer than it takes to get from the house to the car. One of my neighbors has two kids, a boy 5 and a girl 3. They’ve been riding around on their little bikes and using the swing set. I heard their voices the other day, looked out the window and saw them swinging up to the sky, having the time of their lives. They had their winter jackets and hats on but you would have thought it was the middle of July with the fun they were having. Just the fact that they could get to their swing set after all the snow we got was an accomplishment. 

My neighbor across the street has two boys, about 11 and 9. Those two have been outside playing basketball, street hockey and baseball. They’ve been tossing the baseball back and forth and they even have one of those pitch back devices so they can throw the ball at it and have it come back to them. What caught my attention one day was the older boy trying to make the younger one do something by throwing him to the ground, sitting on him and torturing him into doing whatever it was. Nothing like the love between brothers. Eventually, the younger and smaller one wiggled his way free, put a move on the older one and was suddenly on top. The older boy started yelling and screaming and about 30 seconds later their mother came out and told them to break it up and to stop making so much noise. The younger boy never yelled or screamed; he just worked his way out of the death hold his older brother had him in and came out on top. Did I mention that the younger boy is also smaller? Yet the older, bigger boy did all the yelling and screaming. As far as I’m concerned, justice was not done.

When one my older brothers got me in one of those choke holds when we were kids, I would try my hardest to get out of it and gain the advantage. I may have gotten lucky once or twice and escaped, but that just meant when they got me locked up again it was a little rougher and harder. However, I never stopped trying to get out of whatever hold they had me in. Why bother, why not just take it like a man and get it over with? Because it was kind of a measure of how “big” I was getting. If I could make them work to subdue me, that meant I was getting stronger. If I could escape, even for a few seconds, it meant I was getting tougher. I looked forward to the day when I could say that I beat them, that I got away fair and square, because that would mean I was on their level. All the kids I knew that had older brothers wanted the same thing – to be as strong as, as tough as, as good in sports as... as cool as their older brothers. Ultimately, what we wanted was to not be their little brother anymore, but to just be their brother.

However, we never got that victory as kids. Justice was not done. By the time we thought we were actually able to come out on top, our older brothers had moved on to bigger and better (maybe, maybe not) things. I’m sure they had long forgotten the times they knocked us down and pinned us to the ground, or held us in a head lock and gave us noogies, or grabbed us by the arms and gave us Indian rope burns. They probably even forgot they had given us the dreaded Cherokee Drag where they knocked us down and dragged us around by our legs, taking us across the driveway or street and into the bushes. In the summertime. With or without a shirt on our backs. Nothing like the love between brothers.  

But something happened to us little brothers, too. We also grew up and moved on to bigger and better things. Revenge? Nah, not for me. My older brothers were the ones giving me rides to my baseball games or somewhere else in their cool cars. While other kids got dropped off in their parent’s station wagon, I got dropped off in a souped up Olds 442 or a Chevy Camaro, tires spinning and tunes cranking. When I needed a ride, they were there. When I had one of those questions I just couldn’t ask Mom or Dad and knew my friends didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, they were there. I soon realized that when I needed just about anything, even some encouragement about something, they were there. At some point, I had crossed some unseen dividing line and was now on their side. Sure they still gave me a hard time, but it was different. Somehow I was no longer their little brother, and I may have still been their younger brother, but I was now just their brother.  

Now, some forty years later, we still make fun of each other at times and give each other a good ribbing when the opportunity presents itself. They may have laughed more then, but not anymore. Especially now that some of them are grandparents and proud card-carrying members of AARP!