Baseball: The Game and the Spirit

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"There are only two seasons:

Winter and Baseball."

--Bill Veeck

In February, most places in this country are in the throes of winter.  The air is cold, the days are short, and for some reason, the most ferocious snowstorms usually start rolling in about then.  We are fed up with winter and wish it would just go away.  Then one day, we here on the television or on the radio we hear the first real hopeful words:  Spring Training.

Our minds start to drift to sun-splashed fields in Arizona and Florida where the sun shines warm on the shoulders of young men as they stretch winter-weary muscles and minds, living for what is many others, the dream.  Gradually across the rest of the country, winter begins its final retreat.  The days are getting longer, the air warmer.  In parks, back yards, and in streets people once again fall in love with the intoxicating smell of horsehide and cow leather.  You can begin to hear the crack of wood bats and the plink of aluminum.  The grass is turning green under the feet of players racing across its surface.  And as spring rescues hope from winter, the game of baseball brings joy to the soul.

It's hard to quantify or to articulate that feeling, the realization that baseball is not just a game, but a spiritual experience as well.  The days are long and warm, and a game only ends when somebody wins.  There are over a dozen games in history that have lasted over 20 innings and seven hours, and every season, there will be two teams who will lock up in such a marathon, neither side giving in.  The opposite is true of football, played in the time of year when days are growing shorter.  That game is controlled by a clock, and the tension of that passage of seconds is felt throughout the contest.  Football does have overtime, but only one quarter.  If things are not resolved by then, it goes into the books as a tie.

There are no ties in baseball.  It is an eternal contest.



The baseball season is long -- 162 games plus the postseason spread out over seven months.  In the NFL, a three-game losing streak can be the death knell for a season.  In baseball, it's just a bad weekend.  Really, until mid-September, every game has meaning, every chance still alive.

Outside those major league palaces, the game is played in a thousand different places from young kids to old people.  Along with its gentler cousin softball, it brings people together to share that joyful common experience.  All across America under lights orbited by a myriad of winged insects, the game is played in the velvety air of summer.  People get sweaty and dirty, but that's okay.  It's baseball.  In tiered benches behind backstops of chain link and chicken wire, parents, siblings, grandparents, and friends sit and cheer joyfully or groan dramatically.  As a player steps up to the plate, a furtive glance is directed through the fence, their gaze finding the people who love them the most.  Thus fortified, the battle is joined.

Memories are made there, ones that will live across generations.  They will be triggered by the sound of a hit, or the smell of dirt and chalk, hot dogs and peanuts.  They will recall those warm and humid summer days and nights, the unity of the team, and perhaps the one moment in a life when one became a hero.

One can always find a baseball game somewhere in a park, or a backyard, or a cow pasture.  In a street, on a playground,or inside an empty warehouse.  If you're driving by, you can pull over for a few minutes.  If out walking or running, just grab a piece of bleacher.  There's usually no charge, and everyone's welcome.  It's an entertaining game whether played by consummate professionals, or 5-year-olds just learning how.  You can stay for the entire contest, or leave after a few innings.  The game is eternal; it'll always be there.

Some say that Baseball's status as the National Pastime has been challenged by football.  In some respects, there is reason to entertain the idea of such a seismic shift.  Football generates an enormous amount of money and passion.  But it lasts but a short time.  Before you know it, the season's over.  Plus, it's only played one day per week, and then endlessly replayed the other six days.  But on any day between April and October, you can turn on a television or a radio and find baseball.  You can go to a regal stadium or a simple field and find a game to watch.  It always seems to be there.

This week, the regular season starts.  In another month or so, the leagues will start filling up diamonds across the country.  Another season has begun, a timeless eternity has commenced.  And the hearts of millions will be filled by the simple pastoral joys of the game, the game, the game.

It's spring.  And baseball is back.