It’s the slowest, most methodic of sports. A pitcher’s duel draped with a slower ‘jet vs. sharks’ mentality. Each pitch designed for one purpose – to eliminate the opposing team’s chance to get on base, to move closer to home and to score.
And even this week, I’ve had someone ask me “how can you sit and watch that?” Side note – it’s been a really crazy week for Baseball in Atlanta. But we went further than we have in so many years!
I learned a long time ago that each pause, each breath gave time to sit on things - thoughts, actions, problems, and simply think. It’s not about the game. Though I love it dearly. It’s not about the team on the field, it’s about the space we often neglect. The time we often waste in idle movement and chatter. It’s about taking the ball out of play, holding it and reflecting on what each next decision is going to yield. And then throw it – at 95 miles per hour and wait.
Because that ball is going to do one of two or three things. It’s going to be caught by the catcher (appropriate name, right?), a ball or a strike. Or it’s going to be put in play. And quite honestly it could be coming right back at your head just about as fast as you hurled it. Or hit foul, taking you back to the duel in front of you. Then some will be sent over everyone’s head into the bleachers. Home Run.
Doesn’t that sound so much like our lives? We stand on a small hill, 60 feet 6 inches from the problems that we face. We can retire each problem one strike at a time. Sometimes letting one walk, sometimes letting one get away from us in the dirt. We also have to stare into the sky above us (you don’t play this game in a dome!) as we allow the ones that fly like a rocket-ship into the far tiers of the bleachers behind center field.
My grandfather used to watch the games with the sound off. I didn’t understand this at all, but I would sit on occasion with him and watch in silence until he spoke. Sometimes critical of the play on the field, sometimes predictive of the next pitch’s outcome. But mostly he would speak, after quiet deliberation, and say something that resonated with me. Life stuff. Something I wasn’t expecting while watching the Braves play on a Tuesday night.
I wish I did it more. I’m trying to settle in, not like the nervous rookie pitcher in his first major league start. But now, maybe more like Costner’s character in “For Love of the Game”. Taking in a lifetime as he pitches something we just don’t see enough of, a perfect game – amidst a not-so-perfect life.
In the end, Billy (Costner) finds himself alone, both on the mound and in the celebration of something that few pitchers get to experience. Which leads him to the deeper realization that life isn’t a game, even one which I too love so much. Life is meant to be shared and experienced. One breath, one pitch at a time.
“And you know Steve you get the feeling that Billy Chapel isn't pitching against left handers, he isn't pitching against pinch hitters, he isn't pitching against the Yankees. He's pitching against time. He's pitching against the future, against age, and even when you think about his career, against ending. And tonight I think he might be able to use that aching old arm one more time to push the sun back up in the sky and give us one more day of summer.”
~ Vin Scully, from “For Love of the Game”
