Baseball is back. And for those of us who love the game and all that it represents, it’s about time.
The just-concluded lockout was only the latest in a long list of crimes committed against baseball by those who have been entrusted with the National Pastime – sometimes by the owners, sometimes by the players, but always, the ones who are hurt the most are the longsuffering fans. But finally, it’s over. The season will start a week late – Opening Day is set for Thursday, April 7 – but they will play all 162 games, using double-headers and makeup dates.
As MLB columnist Will Leitch says, “Baseball gives us normal.” Going to a big-league ballpark with my family and having a hot dog and some nachos and cheering for the Rangers and our favorite players. And booing those Damn Yankees. Listening to a game on the radio, and remembering hot summer nights in Southeast Texas, sitting up with my dad, listening to Gene Elston and Loel Passe announce the Houston Colt 45s games (before they became the Astros) – “Now you chunkin’ in there, kid!” Sweet thoughts of my son Drew, grilling burgers for me for my birthday on a perfect fall evening, then watching the Rangers beat the Tigers in the American League Championship Series.
Going into this season, we will have day games, night games, and doubleheader games. We will have no hitters and bases-clearing doubles, and towering fly balls that end up being nothing more than a loud out. We will ask, “What was that idiot manager thinking?” and, “Was that ump watching the same play as everybody else?” There will be the All-Star game, followed by the eternal question – will the games the Rangers play in September ACTUALLY MATTER? Watching the playoffs and the World Series and being reminded that big players make big plays in big games. Because baseball is all about continuity, reminding us that there are consistent and reliable things in life. There’s a time to bunt and a time to swing for the fences, and a time to take one for the team. As James Earl Jones says in Field of Dreams,
The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game – it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Oh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.
We will cheer and groan and speculate. And we will see some of the greatest athletes who have ever played the game do some of the most amazing things you have ever seen anyone accomplish. Pitchers who throw exploding sliders and unbelievable fast balls. Hitters who send towering homers literally out of the stadium and into the parking lot. Outfielders who get an impossible jump on a ball and make a diving catch to rob a hitter of a sure double. Infielders who make a 6-4-3 double-play look as easy as breathing, and third basemen who can scoop a ball with their bare hand and rifle it over to first, to get a runner without ever looking. And then smile for his own amusement. These are the moments of baseball. It’s normal. It’s routine and yet also magical.
I was never a good ball player. I couldn’t run very fast, I had no hand-eye coordination, and my vision is terrible. But I love this game. And even as bad as I was, I still got to play baseball on my college team. (That tells you just how small the school was!) So now we can finally focus our attention on Spring Training in Florida and Arizona and know that the regular season is finally, blessedly, just around the corner.