8/8/88.
Does that date ring a bell with you? If it doesn't you're probably
not a baseball aficionado and, if it doesn't, you are definitely
not a Chicago Cub fan!
August
8, 1988 is a date that will live in infamy for all Cubs fans, and
for all baseball fans who appreciate the purity of a game that is
played in the summer sun (AKA DAYTIME), on fresh green grass, and
in a little park that has the character large stadiums are so
jealous of and can only dream about and all new ballparks in
Baltimore, Cleveland, Texas and elsewhere are trying to copy. That
day, er night, the Cubs played their first home game under the
lights.
I'm
sure the Cubs had their reasons for putting in lights. Money is no
doubt one of them. But, I get the feeling that they had a
psychological reason too. Maybe they felt playing so many
games under the hot summer sun ruined the boys of summer for the
championship push made by the men of autumn. But then, how do we
explain the Red Sox? They've played at night for decades, and yet,
they still break the hearts of their fans year after year.
The
Cubs don't break the hearts of their fans anymore. They have long
since become immune to such pain, having suffered through so many
useless Augusts and Septembers. Baseball in October is something
very few Cubs fans can even remember, and winning the World
Series? ... Come on --- get serious. The impossible dream may work
on Broadway but the touring production doesn't play well on the
north side of Chicago.
Yet,
for Cubs Fans, and for me, baseball is the best sport. It is also
the most maddening. All sports require skills that take time and
hard work to develop. The skills in baseball may be the most
simple of any sport, and yet, they are probably the hardest to
master.
I
never worked harder at any single thing in sports as I did at
trying to hit a baseball. A round
stick trying to hit a round object, thrown at you at 70 or 80 or
90 miles per hour. I spent many hours and too many quarters at the
batting cage trying to perfect the skill. But, as hard as I
worked, and as dedicated as I was to mastering that skill, it
wasn't enough. That is why, today, I sit here, opening day ticket
on the desk, pounding out words instead of dirt from my cleats.
I
get tired of hearing football and basketball coaches talk about
how those sports "teach you about life." That's bunk!
You learn about life by participating in it, all off it, and no
game no matter how good or bad you are at it is going to teach you
more about life than by being out in it. I never heard anyone say
baseball is like life. Yet, if such a comparison is to be made,
baseball is more like life than any sport.
Think
about it.
Baseball
takes its time. There are many interruptions in between the main
action.
You
have time, every so often, to stop and meditate. Reflect about
what is happening now, . . .
.
. . consider what may happen in a moment, . . .
.
. . imagine what may come much later.
Stop!
Step
out of the box.
Scratch.
Rub
the sweat from your forehead.
Take
a deep breath.
Get
back in the batter's box.
Wait
for the next pitch.
Get
back in the game.
Baseball
does take its time. There are no clocks to tell you when to begin
and when to stop. You play until you're done.
Ties
aren't allowed. Think about it. How many ties does life give you?
How many over-times?
Baseball
is patience. Baseball is perseverance.
Not
many days off. Lose three, or seven. Lose 10 in a row. It's OK,
for the season is long and there are many, many games to play.
A
bad start doesn't mean a bad finish. There is always time to come
back in baseball. You play until you are done.
But,
when you are taken out of the game, there is no going back.
Baseball
teaches humility. The best fail seventy percent of the time.
With
baseball more so than with any other sport, you learn to hope.
Life renews itself in the spring. There is always tomorrow, always
next year.
Next
year is here.
Play
Ball!
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