STILL THE SAME

A few nights ago I couldn't get to sleep. The major factor was the 125 degree heat that permeated my air-conditionless condo. I exaggerate the temperature, but it felt a bit sticky. I read for awhile, answered a couple of e-mails, then moved to phase three: TV channel surfing, a sport with which I am most familiar. I usually go through all the programming options at least twice before getting frustrated, but that night I stopped abruptly during the first rotation. I began watching an old HBO baseball documentary, "When it Was a Game 3." I have it in my collection and had actually viewed it once. But on this particular night at that particular time, it was the perfect antidote for my increasing discomfort.

I love baseball. It's not an obsession, but I honestly love the game. At my advancing age, I still have occasional longings to take batting practice and play catch. It's in my blood. "When it Was a Game 3" (there were two previous WiWaG, numbers 1 and 2) rekindled my baseball origins. It was a brilliant and original idea. The producers gathered a humongous collection of home movies and film footage (no DVDs then) from former players and fans of three separate eras, and weaved it all together with commentary from writers, players, poets, broadcasters, and fans to tell baseball's story. Mesmerizing. In that nostalgic, yet perspirated late night setting, I found myself revisiting my first and only favorite sport. It could digress in several directions at this point, however I will strive mightily to stay on topic.

As a wee lad, I began playing catch with my father before I could walk. He was quite sure about two of my future goals (I was a bit young for consultation), a college degree and a long playing career with the Boston Red Sox (see My Favorites). I accomplished the first, but failed miserably with the second. Not that I didn't try. I played ball every day, each spring and summer for eight years with varying degrees of modest success. For five of those years, my father coached me. It promoted a tenuous familial relationship, occasional hard feelings, and an eventual year away from the game (10th grade). I did return the following season, primarily to earn a varsity letter, which allowed the purchase of the coveted letterman's jacket, a virtual guarantee for exalted social status. But after high school, I gave up the sport for more leisurely and less intense extracurricular pursuits. My passion for the game slowly evaporated. Too many years have passed since my last active participation, but I've found a gradual, exhilarating appreciation for baseball's many positive facets.

A common complaint from casual observers states that baseball is boring. If I have heard that once, I've heard it a hundred times. We all have different tastes and built-in excitement meters, yet for me, baseball is anything but boring. Dan Patrick, former ESPN anchor and current radio talk show host, recently made the following on-air statement referencing the generic sports fan: "What we love is now." I think he's right. It's a high tech world and we've become attuned to instant knowledge, analysis, and results. Baseball doesn't quite fit that stereotype and I'm glad.

In this fast-faster-now society, baseball is the only major team sport without a time limit. The game proceeds at the pace of the day. Two hours, three hours, four hours has no bearing on the nine inning schedule. The game is played outdoors (for the most part) during the best weather months of each year, and strategy changes with every pitch. One can be either engaged or detached in the game -- individual choice, and it's hard to turn away from hot dogs, cold beverages, peanuts,and Cracker Jacks. I've been fortunate to sit in the press box during a World Series, as well as the bleachers for Rookie League contests. It doesn't matter, the GAME is the attraction.

The sport remains as it always has: timeless, cerebral, stimulating, and ephemeral. Each game offers a myriad of moods and experiences. I think it is often criticized unfairly because the unrabid fan sees baseball in a television screen. The size of the screen, whether 26", 32", 46", 52" HD, or black and white becomes irrelevant because camera angles are limited to pitcher, hitter, catcher, fielder. Ballparks contain so much more. Countless books, poems, historical references, essays, and critiques testify to the interest and fascination with this oddly crafted exhibition. For all its wonder and potential, the internet can't recreate the atmosphere of that ballpark. A visit to Fenway Park in Boston, Yankee Stadium in New York, or Wrigley Field in Chicago reaffirms the attitude and ambiance only baseball can provide. I once attended a three-game weekend series at Fenway. Nothing in sports has ever approached that weekend's enjoyment for me.

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I finally turned off the set that night, but not until I watched the entire documentary yet again. Sleep eventually arrived, but baseball still dominated my thoughts.

Sorry, but I have to go. the Red Sox-Orioles game is about to start on WTBS, and I have two hot dogs and a lemonade left in the refrigerator. Yes!

MM

p.s. I didn't quite make my three-post weekly goal. Luckily, my editor is me.
I'll try to do better.