The Game.

*This was written for the boys and coaches and parents who were part of the MCGRA 7th/8th JBO team at the end of their 2017 season*

For those of you (are there any who are reading this?) who didn’t know Bill, let me just tell you that he loved baseball.  He loved it more than most people because I suppose he understood it better than most people.  He would speak about the magic of baseball and until now I guess I didn’t exactly understand what he was talking about.  

Let me try to explain what I mean.

The magic of the game is not tied to the superstitions of the game.  Things like wearing the same pair of socks during a winning streak or jumping over the baseline when taking the field instead of stepping  directly on it.  Or maybe walking onto the pitcher’s mound with the same foot with each approach.  It's not even with the elaborate rituals a batter goes through when steps up to the plate.  Superstitions and habits are not magic.

It’s not about the constancy of the positions regardless of the age or the team either.  No, second baseman aren’t always “failed” shortstops.  Closing pitchers are not always a little crazy.  Right fielders don’t always watch the clouds to find pictures in them instead of paying attention to the game.  First basemen aren’t always the coach’s kid who can’t play anywhere else nor are they always fat.  Oh, I think there’s a little truth to most of it but it’s definitely not magical.

I think what Bill meant was that there is something magical about the game itself, the subtleties and nuances of the game.  The way a field looks when it’s freshly mowed and the infield is drug until it’s smooth as silk.  It’s in the moment when the lights are switched on and a game suddenly becomes a night game.  It’s also in the moment when the dust settles and you can finally see whether the runner is safe on the bag or not.  In a perfectly executed double play or a bunt that is laid out right along the third base line.  The magic is in the smells and sounds of the game:  The sound of the ball hitting the bat (sometimes on the handle even!) or the way the leather of a glove sounds when a ball is caught.  The smell of dirt and grass and seeds.  

That’s what he meant, I think.  And he was right.

But I have come to think of it a little bit differently.  I think the magic of the game lies in the community created by those involved.  The players, the parents, the spectators, even the umpires.  The magic is that everyone, regardless of height, weight, age, color, sex, level of education or intelligence, socio-economic status, whatever, can gather to essentially become one crazy, diverse, extraordinary family.  

That’s my take on it.  There lies the magic.

Bill endeavored to teach kids enough about the game that they, in turn, could perpetuate their love of it to the next generation.  “It’s a simple game,” he’d say, “you only have to throw a ball and catch a ball.”  I’m certain that he would be proud of this team and he would feel relief that his influence and instruction would not return empty.  His legacy will live on every time one of these boys shares their love of the game with someone else.  More magic.

He’d also say that JD was safe on third.