Baseball Fever

Tonight, I watched the movie Fever Pitch starring Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore for the third time. The passage of time has finally afforded me the opportunity to fully appreciate the movie's message: Baseball (and life) is beautiful. You see, when it was released, the film depicted the Boston Red Sox victory over the St. Louis Cardinals in the 2004 World Series. That was a hard pill for me to swallow. I have been a Cards fan ever since I can remember. Sure, there was a brief period when I lived in south western Iowa and north central Missouri when I tolerated the Kansas City Royals, but obviously that ended with the tainted 1985 World Series. Since then, I have devoted my fandom to the Redbirds. But after watching the movie tonight, I was reminded of another team I had an affection for. The Bo Sox.

People my age will remember a television show from the 1980s called St. Elsewhere featuring Denzel Washington, Ed Begly, Jr., Mark Harmon, Howie Mandel, and the guy who was the voice of Kitt, the car from Knight Rider. The main thing you should take from this is that Howie's character always wore a Red Sox ball cap, and because I thought he was the only funny person on an otherwise melancholy show, I gravitated towards him. I found myself emulating his comedic stylings and even convinced my dad to procure for me a fitted Red Sox cap. In 1986, the Sox battled the Cardinals' hated rivals, the New York Mets in the World Series. Bill Buckner, the Sox first baseman broke not only every heart in New England, but also my own when he allowed a routine ground ball to pass between his legs allowing the Pond Scum Mets to win the game and the series. I was as distraught as the Bostonians depicted in the film I watched tonight, but despite their lamentations of an 86 year curse on the club following Babe Ruth's trade to the hated Yankees, I felt even more troubled by the fact that the curse was broken against my beloved Cardinals in the 2004 series.

As much as I liked the Sox, it killed me to see them beat my Redbirds in the fall classic that year. It may not have been 86 years since the Cards' last World Series win, but 22 years seemed like an eternity to me. Tonight's movie brought back many painful, yet romantic memories of my life-long love affair with the National Pastime. Suddenly, I didn't hate the Sox. I remembered how heartbroken I was when I first saw poor Billy Buckner commit the worst error of his professional life. I recalled how disgusted I was when Kansas City raised the trophy in 1985 after umpire Don Dinkinger blew a call at first base that would have sealed the championship for St. Louis. I suddenly realized how much baseball has meant to me over the years since I first took the field when I was in the second grade. I recall the pride and horror of having my dad and mom coach my little league teams. I relish the joy of coaching Alex in his first ever year of "organized baseball." I recoil at the errors I made while coaching a t-ball team and arguing with parents over the way I mismanaged their children. But overall, I am overcome with the realization of how much I love the game of baseball.

I have been involved in organized ball, including coach-pitch, little league, Khorey League, junior high, high school, men's slow-pitch softball, co-ed softball (in which I hit my only over-the-fence homerun--with a dislocated knee cap no less!--and won my only league championship), and Alex's teams since I was seven years old. That's over thirty years of dedication to the game. Nowadays, I am in a fantasy baseball league--my first--and I have really enjoyed delving into the details of my favorite sport. I hope that I can win a buck or two when the season is done, but if not, at least my love affair with the game will have been rekindled. Alex doesn't want to play ball this year, and I won't force him. Baseball is a game that can only be appreciated by people who truly love it. My next book may even be about the game, so stay tuned for further updates. In the meantime, take your kids to a ballgame. Have a beer and a hot dog. Teach your son or daughter to keep score. Tell them about your childhood love for the game. Give them your bubble gum card collection and review it with them. Above all else, remember that our national pastime serves a greater purpose. It brings fathers and sons together. It gives us "heroes" to look up to. It reminds us that life is not all about work and drudgery, but also about seeking out the things that we can share with the ones we love. Baseball is not just a game. It is the glue that bonds us together every summer regardless of whether one is a Yankees fan or a member of Sox Nation. It is an opportunity to hold true heroes such as Stan Musial and Jackie Robinson up as examples to our children of what it means to be a great American. No matter what team you root for, baseball has the power to unite the world. In an age of radical differences between various countries and political movements, baseball is the one international constant that has the power to bridge the gap between us.

So do yourself and the world a favor: Go out and rent The Natural, or Fever Pitch, The Bad News Bears, or Field of Dreams. Coach a Little League team. Join a fantasy league. Take your kids to a ball game. Take a moment to remember that life has some pretty sweet things going for it once you stop dwelling on all the negatives we are bombarded with in the media such as the economy, wars, and the New York Yankees.

Beisbol, is been berry, berry good to me.