It’s always a new ball game

It ain’t over ‘til it’s over…so let’s play ball

There’s still snow in the forecast, but winter’s over…the ball parks are open and the Boys of Summer are doing what they do.

I always get a little twinge of excitement on Opening Day – America’s great uncalendared holiday. I’m a fan of baseball like I’m a fan of sunshine…it brightens my day and warms my spirit, but in the right amount. I harbor a soft spot for the Twinks, think well of the Cubbies, and have a residual admiration of the Mantle, Marris, Yogi Berra Yankees, but truth be told, when I walk into a bar and a game’s on, I watch it…half the time, never figuring out who’s playing or waiting for the final score. I enjoy watching baseball like other folks enjoy ballet, simple as that.

As a kid I really knew of only one sport — baseball — or, more simply, “ball”, as in “Hey, ya wanna play ball?” — and somebody would produce some sort of leather-covered spheroid and a wooden bat, designate four spots on a reasonably open outdoor space and we’d pick sides and play ball.

Now, playing ball became increasingly sophisticated beyond this rudimentary neighborhood leagueless, adult-free pastime. There was T-ball and Pee-Wee ball, Legion ball, Town ball, and, of course, the Big Leagues.

I was born into the tag end of the era when sport in America pretty much meant baseball. From the Civil War to the Vietnam War, baseball held the field as America’s undisputed National Pastime. It is a game of utmost simplicity and the most complex elegance. To play all you need is a few neighbor kids, a stick, a ball, a patch of open ground and imagination. To play well involves the most subtle strategy and extraordinary physical finesse. It is a game both accessible and aspirational. It’s the game I and the country grew up with.

As a game, it shaped us. Played on the sunny fields of summer, baseball is a game for optimists. It’s a game that always holds out that chance, however slim and unlikely, that things will turn around. “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over,” goes the famous Yogi-ism, and the fans abandoning their seats to beat the traffic get to listen to the ninth inning rally from the parking lot. Until the final out, the underdog can turn things around. Baseball is a game of redemption. There’s always a chance to try again on a better day.

So here we are. It’s a new season…the “next year” we’ve been waiting for since the disappointments of the fall. This time, let’s not just watch America’s game, let’s get in there and play it. There isn’t an MVP yet who played his first game in the Big Leagues – every one of them got a start on a neighborhood diamond, in a pick-up game, organized by the players themselves. Mopin’ on the sidelines ‘cuz your team lost the pennant isn’t gonna help win the next one. It may be a rebuilding year, but the game’s gotta be played…celebrate the wins, learn from the losses, always keep in mind – “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

It ain’t over yet. So let’s play ball.