SPECTATING

A couple of weeks ago I received an e-mail from a close friend asking if I would like to see a ballgame at AT&T Park. Although I generally avoid big crowds and high ticket prices, I thought why not and accepted the invitation. The game itself, surrounding environs, and engaging companions prompted thoughts of both present and past.

I compulsively fear being late. I don't know why, but I've always been a time freak. If I have a meeting at 2:00 p.m., I will arrive no later than 1:55; in fact that's bordering on tardiness. That was the first best part of the baseball outing. We reached the Park for the Giants-Nationals contest two hours before game time, and adjourned to a pleasant dining establishment near the premises for a relaxing repast. There were four of us, all long-time friends, and a good meal always prompts conviviality. With plenty of time left on the clock, we reached our seats and settled in. I should tell you about the seating because it actually sparked the idea for this post. Our tickets came courtesy of one member of our foursome. Suffice it to say he is among the most generous and unassuming individuals I know. It would take another 10 pages to adequately profile our benevolent host, but it would embarrass him greatly. The seats we occupied were four rows behind home plate on an elevated level with zero obstruction. One could literally have a conversation with the Giants' on-deck hitter or even the bat boy.

There's something different about spectating. I've seen so many events over the years that I have become a bit jaded. I hate traffic, crowds, and long lines. Thus my trusty Panasonic 26" television set generally works in a substitute capacity. It's not HD, but at least I'm thinking about it. However, I sporadically become motivated to actually attend games. On that particular night, I'm glad I did.

I won't belabor or repeat my love of baseball, yet I sometimes forget what makes it so enjoyable, especially at its highest level. Because of the pace of play, it lulls even its most ardent fans into a relaxed anticipation of results and outcomes. That evening I kicked myself several times for not remembering how talented the performers, and the relative ease with which they plied their trade. The superb vantage point allowed me to watch so much of the game I never see at home. It continues to boggle my mind how hitters ever connect with a pitch. Generally, they must face a large human standing on an elevated platform (the mound), propelling a small white sphere at speeds of nearly 100 MPH with hopeful accuracy. In addition, the large human can usually make the sphere curve, slice, drop, or rise at varying speeds, and doesn't have to tell the hitter ahead of time. Hitting a baseball successfully may be the only athletic endeavor where the individual can fail seven out of 10 times and be cheered. That night I rediscovered my appreciation for that particular skill. Late in the game the Gigantes trailed by a run, but had the tying and go-ahead runners on base. The Nationals' relief pitcher was a lefty whose fastball leveled off at about 95 MPH. The hitter was a popular veteran, known for his competitive nature. The baseball bull ring opened its gates for all to appreciate.

Being that close to the plate, I "spectated" with far more interest than Panasonic vision. The concentration by pitcher, hitter, catcher, infielders, coaches, and even umpires became more palpable with each pitch, and there were many. The ball and strike count reached 3 and 2, but the hitter proceeded to foul off one, two, three...six pitches in succession, barely making contact with the steady fast ball diet he was given. It was one of those defining moments for any baseball-worshiping spectator. The ultimate challenge...can you hit this fastball, or can I make you miss?

I knew what would happen. I'm not sure why, except for my life-long Ph.D in spectating. The hitter triumphed with a line shot double to left center field. The two runs scored, and the Giants subsequently won the game.

We are often bored by excellence. The great producers in life set the bars high in their respective fields. Occasionally, one needs a dose of drama, effort, and ability to rekindle the excitement meter. I left the park totally satisfied. The company, the meal, the accommodations, and the reminder. The latter being a renewed understanding just how talented certain people are, and how challenging their pursuits. We don't live in a drab or dull society, but a periodic prodding keeps us energized for the special moments.

NOTE: Sorry about the delay. It's the time of the year when occupational demands become heightened.

MM