The snow has cleared from the storm earlier this week, my rhubarb is starting to make its annual appearance in the garden, the approaching summer’s sun will be gaining fully a third of its longer days’ light this month and today something else is emerging nearby.
It’s called the home opener for the Colorado Rockies.
Major league baseball has been playing now all week but the first of 81 home games at Coors Field is as welcome as an old friend. Going to a game has always been an escape for me. But this year, more than others, it will be great to go up for a game now and then.
Outside the ballpark, our culture seems to be in a head-long race towards total destabilization. We can’t approach enough cliffs to see if one people group or another will fall off. The popular cultural narrative constantly proclaims wrong “right” and right “wrong.” Everyone is calling balls and strikes on the internet. One wonders if we’re in the ninth inning already.
At least there’s baseball. No matter how many relativists may be in the stands, the bases will always be exactly 90 feet apart. Commentators won’t be able to change the truths they find in the box score. Unlike the internet, there’s only one person calling balls and strikes. More on him in a minute. Unless you’re one of those obnoxious Dodgers fans (trying to be cordial here), everyone watching is united and equal.
The game has changed a lot since my Dad first took me to Kansas City Municipal stadium to watch Charlie O’s Athletics play Roger Maris and the Yankees. But, then again, the game hasn’t changed. I still take my son with mitt in hand always ready for a foul ball. We’ll sing my favorite baseball song at the stretch, arm in arm. There might be a hot dog in the mix somewhere but I can guarantee you that Cracker Jack will be consumed.
Last year, I watched a couple of on-field positions specifically. Nolan at third is a highlight reel. Trevor’s back at short. But, I watched a couple of others.
Just before one game last year, I watched the umpire wipe out a freshly prepared chalk line behind home plate with his shoe. I don’t know why he did that other than to suggest the line wasn’t required. I guess if a line didn’t need to be there, why draw it? No one challenged him on it. They played the game without it.
Then there’s the one position on the field that few people ever notice—the on-deck batter. Will he take practice swings at each pitch made to home plate? What will be his ring configuration? How much pine tar can one person apply to a bat or end up on a batting helmet anyway?
There’s a ton of stuff going on the field, and yet the game, like the diamond, is stable. You can count on it. Nine innings. Twenty-seven outs. There’s even a possibility of free baseball. Frankly, we long for the stability that comes from true truths and we can find them at the ball park.
Yes, it’s baseball season. You are welcome. If the Rockies don’t win today or any day, then that’s a shame. When the game’s over, out to reality we go.
That reality includes a lot of lines drawn that, humbly, may not need to be there. And, there seems to be a lot of people swinging bats—just not during a plate appearance.
If only there could be someone who would look out over all of us in our declining culture and, extending his arms, say those words we long to hear at home: “Safe!”
Wait a minute. There has been Someone.