Jul. 18—”It’s the mathematical potential for a single game to last forever, in a suspended world where no clock rules the day, that aligns baseball as much with the dead as the living.”
— Bill Vaughn
Conversations can go to places that you don’t or wouldn’t expect. This past week it was baseball.
Talking with a friend, I was asked if I liked baseball. The answer was “Yes,” although I added that I haven’t followed it for a long, long time. Back when I was growing up, it was my sport to follow.
Back when I was growing up, I had the time to watch games. Now, not so much, at least for any length of time. And even though money almost seems a factor in everything, now it almost seems like a supreme factor, especially with any professional sports. The innocence of the game seems gone, or at least, tagged “Out” in a slide at second base.
“The next time someone whines that baseball doesn’t have enough action, you can do two things: first, explain the planning, strategizing, calculating and deception that place before every pitch. Then quote Hall-of-Fame announcer Red Barber: ‘Baseball is dull only to dull minds.’ “
— Zack Hample
Think about this. Baseball has some unique aspects as compared to other sports. Those differences can also be compared with the way life works and how we deal with it.
One, there is no definitive time limit. It’s not set at 60 minutes or whatever. You go into the game with nine innings, and if there is a tie, extra innings, no matter how many you need to get a winner. Or a loser. When you get into life, how many years you get is something you don’t know. Make each pitch and each swing count.
Two, each field you play in is always different. No gridirons all neatly the same size and shape. Baseball has the diamond, of course, but beyond that, each playing field is different. Different size outfields, different size foul territories, short walls, high walls, humongous walls. You gotta deal with different home run conditions. A lot like life, huh? When we move forward in life, our personal home field stays at home and you have to adapt to conditions. The major rules are defined by the diamond, but the rest is up to you to run fast, run slow, stay in place. And as for running into walks at a full gallop, you may have a warning track to notify you before you run into the wall, but it ain’t that big a warning.
“It is the life-affirming genius of baseball that the short can pummel the tall, the rotund can make fools of the sleek, and no matter how far down you find yourself in the bottom of the ninth, you can always pull out a miracle.”
— Bill Vaughn
A tradition, or used to be one, is the singing of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” written in 1908 by Jack Norworth, with a revision of the lyrics in 1927. He said it took him 15 minutes to write the song. The tradition is to sing the song during the “seventh-inning stretch,” and former pitcher and Phillies color commentator Larry Anderson once commented on the tradition:
“In the seventh inning fans all get up and sing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game,’ and they’re already there. It’s really a stupid thing to say and I don’t know who made ’em sing it. Why would somebody that’s there get up and sing take me out to the ball game? The first person to do it must have been a moron.”
Or drunk, Larry. Maybe just plain old drunk!!!
What was the first known song about baseball? It was composed in 1858 by J. R. Blodgett and titled “The Base Ball Polka!” My favorite is John Fogerty’s “Centerfield.”
While I don’t follow it much nowadays, baseball was the sport I enjoyed growing up. I never was much of a football fan. If there was a baseball game on TV, that’s what the channel was set at. My dad and mom were baseball fans, and from spring through summer, many evenings had either the Yankees or Phillies on the tube.
I grew up as a Yankee fan. In addition to having the games on TV all the time, my Uncle Steve was a big fan, so that helped fire up the interest in the team, although that wasn’t hard to do. Growing up in the ’60s, it was easy to be a fan of a team that had Mantle, Maris, Ford, Berra, Pepitone, Tresh, Richardson and others. Mickey Mantle was my favorite player, and he still is. “The Mick” was a great player, and in my opinion, may have been the greatest player. If his knees would have held out and he had taken better care of himself, who knows what his final record would have been.
The first professional baseball game I ever attended was the Phillies back in the ’60s. I was attending St. George Parochial School (Highland Street) in Shenandoah and probably was in the seventh grade. I was a patrol boy (complete with orange vest), and one of the “perks” was a free trip to Philadelphia in May to see a game at Connie Mack Stadium. Aside from just being able to attend the game, there were two things I remember. The first was finding a $20 bill on the steps going up to the bleachers. It pays to look at the ground from time to time. The second was seeing the field for the first time. We had a black and white TV at home, so other than seeing local fields in various conditions, I hadn’t seen a professional field in color. I can still remember walking out in the bleacher area and seeing that beautiful, bright-green baseball field. That was a thrill to see. When I was young, I impressed easily. Not so much anymore.
I never played on any formal team, but there was a bunch of us in William Penn that got together for some games. Baseball gloves were usually ours through gifts, but baseball bats and hard balls were mostly scavenged. The Shenandoah High School baseball team played at the William Penn field at the time, and after games we would comb the bushes for lost foul balls, or once in a while find a broken discarded bat. If it was just cracked a bit, a few small nails and some electrical tape made it usable again.
We didn’t play in that field though. Games were played in a dirt lot near the old Waiksnoris service station. It was a slush field. A big piece of slate was home plate, with other rocks being the other bases, except for first base. Looking from home plate to the right, there was a line of old, non-running cars of all types. We used to play in them. Well, a 1940s Plymouth was first base, which was easy to see, but tough to slide into or under.
Simple times to be sure. It’s not going to happen, but I do wish they could come back.
“It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”
— Yogi Berra
(Staff writer Usalis can
be reached at jusalis@