I woke up early this morning, even by my standards, and the first thing in my mind as I laid there in the dark was the thought that there was baseball today. The first day of the baseball playoffs. Baseball’s always been a link to childhood for me (and many, many others) but this morning there was the reawakened feelings of childish anticipation on Christmas morning at the prospect of watching baseball in the studio.
My appreciation of baseball has regrown over the years back to the thrill it provided as a kid. I had lost interest in it in the 1980’s as I was busy trying to make a living and find my own niche in the world. But as I began to find who and what I was, I rediscovered the game. Oh, there’s a lot to be cynical about in the game– ludicrous salaries that make greedy corporate types look like pikers, performance enhancing drugs and such. Things that have driven away some longtime fans such as my father.
But, for me, I look past those trappings and see only the game and its pace and geometry. Nuance and history. The way it raises emotion with a game both simple and complex. A game where a player is not judged by sheer size or strength or pure physical ability but by skill level and intangibles such as grittiness, hustle and gamesmanship. A game where losing and failing are built into the game and those who aren’t afraid to fail succeed. A game that is celebrated with poetry and romance.
So, today is a day for baseball. A day of childish wonder. A day of joy here in Mudville.
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The image at the top is a little experiment from when I was first starting to paint. I call it Casey at the Bat. It’s hard to explain what I was going for and how close I came to reaching it with this little piece. I know it doesn’t look like much but it is pretty much what I wanted from it.
In honor of the first day of the playoffs, here’s a 1908 Edison recording of Take Me Out to the Ballgame.
Redtree Times 
When I was young, we lived in Baltimore and I followed the O’s. This was in the days of greats like Brooks Robinson, Boog Powell, Jim Palmer, Dave McNally and Frank Robinson.
I can’t recapture my interest in major league ball because of those things you mentioned. But minor league? Oh, yeah.
Here, you can catch a Durham Bulls game, eat ballpark food, drink a beer or two and it’ll cost you a little over 20 bucks.
That, my friend, is a true bargain.
Perhaps I’ve been lucky in latching on to the Yankees whose willingness to spend(!) has allowed them to keep a core of players together over the years, something that was the norm in the past. The Orioles team that you mentioned is a great example. There is a continuity when teams stay together for long periods of time that allows the fan to feel as though they know them and their personalities, at least in a public way.
You’re right though about minor-league ball. It’s a real deal.
Couldn’t help but think of you when I heard news of Roy Halladay’s no-hitter. Even we non-fans know how special those are!
Yes, that was certainly a magical moment for Halladay, one that forever validates his legendary status among fans of the game.
Only the second (along with Don Larsen’s) post-season no-hitter ever, and “Doc” Halladay’s second no-hitter of the season.
Of course Larsen’s was not only a no-hitter but also a perfect game. And it wasn’t just in the playoffs, it was in the World Series.
Still, it must feel good to be Roy Halladay this week.
His name reminded me of Roy Hobbs (in “The Natural”) and Doc Graham (in “Field of Dreams”).
There’s nothing better than baseball in the Spring, when anything’s possible. Except baseball in the Fall, when, if you’re gonna do it, you’d better do it soon.
Of course baseball in the Summer’s not too shabby either.
Yes, Doc Halladay is a great baseball name. It sounds like he should be duelling pitch for pitch with Dizzy Dean or Red Ruffing.
And there’s always the Hot Stove League for winter….