Sure God created everything. Yet, in a world of free choice, where we all choose to follow the light or the dark, many temptations seem well-designed to send us down the path of destruction. I note this in particular when I am on the road for business. Pleasures abound that sport thistles of trouble. Alcohol, tobacco, paid sex, “medical” marijuana, all sing their siren song to this poor traveler.
Where might one find a haven? One place always satisfies. The ballpark. Everyone welcomed. Food and beverages for a somewhat reasonable price abound. Young, old, disabled, minorities, all there for an event, a microcosm, a singularity, that will never be the same as any other game past or future. Grandparents with grandchildren. Whole families. Dates. Even lonely out-of-towners looking for a way to bear the loneliness, all congregate to join in the common experience and enjoy the good-natured camaraderie of the event.
And on the field—art; beauty; danger; skill; performance of the highest quality. Even for the crowd, the opportunity exists to demonstrate skill with the catch of a foul ball, create comedy with a poor effort, balanced with the inherent thrill of the danger from a line drive foul ball.
The game. No running out the clock. In theory, no deficit too great to overcome. The game truly not over until actually over.
Never ever certain as to what might happen or what never before seen event may occur. Milton Bradley throwing the ball into the stands with only two outs and runners on the bases! Are you kidding me! Tulowitzki hitting two three-run homers in one game! Wow! A one hundred mile per hour fastball! Hazaah!
Three hours away from the stress of day to day life. Three hours to see an entire historical event, in its entirety, from creation, in the glory of the national anthem, to the final culminating, orgasmic out.
Satan must hate baseball. So many souls protected from his appealing traps. Addictions avoided. Affairs thwarted. Suicides prevented. Joy embraced. Elation enhanced, and the purity of performance plainly and objectively rewarded.
There can be no doubt, when the toil of this world lies behind me. If I make it past the Pearly Gates, you can look for me, three rows up, behind the first base dugout.
Copyright-2010—David J. Carr