Slow-down Baseball Afternoon

When was the last time you went to a baseball game? Come along and join the crowd that still sings "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

Photo by Chris Chow on Unsplash

“When is this going to be over?” the little girl sitting behind us asked her mother. “What time is it anyway?”

Jeesh, kid, it’s just the first inning, I thought. It must be hard for some kids to watch a baseball game. When I look around at all the other kids, mitts ready to catch that foul ball flying toward the seats. I realize this little girl is an anomaly. Between each change of the field, the Reno Ace's mascot shakes his bulbous booty to rock music along with the Aces' dance team to build up and sustain interest. Two emcees bring kids onto the field for a special activity. This little girl, however, didn't enjoy the game on the same level as the little boys. My friend, Judy, tells me that this is the first baseball venue she’s been to where they truly give you your money’s worth. An ardent San Francisco Giants fan, Judy has attended lots of baseball games.

This game is only the third one Jeff and I have attended and Jeff has discovered it’s a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I tend to agree, especially after seeing a movie the previous day. While the featured movie was good, even gratifying, the trailers, with their special effects cars, people and debris flying into my face, exhausted my senses and deadened my reaction to violence and mayhem. By the time the trailers finished, I had forgotten what movie I had come to see. The irony is that, while Hollyweird is attempting to raise our collective consciousness about important current issues -- the destruction of the planet by asteroid, for example -- the flaring, glaring, blaring effects framing the insipid dialog distracts even the most attentive viewer. No wonder we’re all ADHD.

Back to Sunday afternoon, a light haze covers the sky and moderates the summer heat. The seats are filling to capacity and hawkers already pace the aisles selling beer, peanuts and cotton candy. Any thoughts of Earth's destruction, political anarchy, body counts, and general chaos have dissolved in this festival of American tradition.

While we all get settled, we watch the grounds crew groom the field. Players warm up for the challenges ahead. Then all disappear and a school band marches onto the outfield. We are treated to a slightly off-key rendition of the Star Spangled Banner only to have the requisite amateur singer offend our ears with a dirge-paced version of “God Bless America” between innings later on. Both of these performances, however, are all part of the hometown essence that is baseball.

Most of the adults in the stands, men and women alike, have played some form of this gentle game during their lives. Memories are refreshed and possibly shared with their grandchildren. There was a reason why, until football took its place, baseball was considered the National Pastime. Every kid played baseball or "stickball" in the street, a vacant lot, playground or park, all without parental or professional guidance. Baseball still reigns at company picnics, despite the abundance of foreign workers who don't really understand the game, yet when the giant baseball animatron rises over the center field wall to sing at the seventh inning stretch, everyone knows the words to Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

Soccer may have taken over the schoolyard perhaps, and football generates millions of dollars annually, but nobody automatically compares baseball to cricket. There’s no controversy or comparison to another country’s version of hitting a ball with a bat and running. It’s the game that children played before cell phones captured their attention. People attend as families or with friends. It still has the heart of people itching to play for the fun of it with simple rules and skills that nearly anyone can master if given the training and practice. It's the heart of an America that once existed and possibly could again. It’s in our genes that changed ever so slightly as our immigrant ancestors morphed into Americans.

The action is slow and calming, allowing fans to watch in rapt attention or relax for a while, possibly not really aware of the game at all until the snap of a home run hit raises the decibel level. Linda, another baseball friend of mine, says it’s easier to watch baseball on television, but then you don’t get the ebb and flow of exuberance around you. The waves of excitement when the fielders catch those flies against the wall or the shortstop plucks up the grounder with plenty of time to throw it to first base for an out. The crowd is either a surging tide or a placid sea awaiting the next storm. Television doesn’t deliver that feeling. Because of the sedate pace of the game, however, baseball doesn’t impassion crowds to such a fever pitch that causes a riot. Wars have been started over a soccer game, but baseball is the game of peace.

Baseball takes fans away for a few hours. No job worries. No national crises or political nonsense. No exploding cars, people or debris. And for some, maybe it’s too slow. That’s okay. Because when we enter the baseball stadium and hear that first refrain of “beer, peanuts, cotton candy,” the respiratory system breathes in a long sigh. The heart retards its pounding. Eyes gaze upon a lush, green field where the players are almost close enough to touch.

When they emerge from the locker room after the game, youthful fans greet them as neighbors who played a good game, and applaud those who played in top form. What's more, the players aren't so full of themselves that they shun the children who idolize them or refuse to autograph the foul ball some kid caught. Who knows? That kid may hit homers in the major league someday. And the tradition will continue.

The author with her friend, Linda, and the Reno Aces mascot at a Sunday ballgame.

If you enjoyed this essay, feel free to explore more essays, poems, and stories in the Ring Around the Basin Archive. Also, I love to read your comments, so please share your thoughts. Let’s start a conversation.

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Book Review:

E.R. Flynn, Illustrator, Cartoonist, Storyteller and Creator of "Escape from Clowntown Comics" here on Substack.

"Ghost in The Forest" is a great read! Take note People. If you love stories about environmentalism and nature, its clash with urban mindsets, as well as personal transformation, this is the book for you!