A welcome return to the field of dreams

The voice of baseball--Vin Scully.

Baseball is back and it couldn’t have arrived at a better time.

I can now focus my attention on the beauty of a sport I have loved since childhood and one whose grace and sheer simplicity will help wash away the horrors of what has been a dreadful and frightening winter.

I no longer need to dwell on the sins of my faith, the Catholic Church, and the open sewer it has become, a safe haven for pedophiles and men of God who dress as if they were ordained Kings instead of servants of the people. And while their horrors and sins of omission can never be cast aside, I will  reserve my prayers for the wounded thousands these thugs in roman collars and their enablers have left in their wake and will then focus my attentions on the beauty of a Ryan Howard home run swing or the magnificent grace of an ageless Mariano Rivera each time he steps to the mound. And while I never again will enter a Catholic Church and leave money behind to pay for the trials of child molesters as school after school is allowed to close without any sign of concern from the powers that be, I will always cherish the beauty of an empty ballpark on warm summer evenings. If these evil men truly believe in a power greater than themselves, then they should look to their teachings and do the right thing. But they won’t. They will, from the Pope on down, continue to live like Barons and sin like the devil.

    I can now wonder if Pablo Sandoval of the Giants will continue to grow as a player, the potential heir apparent to the great Tony Gywnn, instead of listening to the hateful and racist remarks put forth by the esteemed members of the Tea Bag party and its various off-shoots. These are men who spit at African-American members of Congress, called Civil Rights hero John Lewis the n-word and threw crumpled bills at a crippled old man. But they claim they are what America is all about and somehow their country is being taken away. Well, if their actions highlight what country it is they claim to be losing, they can have it.

  They also speak about the Founding Fathers at every opportunity, as if any member of that esteemed group, from Jefferson to Franklin to either John or Sam Adams, would spend a second of time in their company. These rodeo clowns often claim to be men of God and faith (which few of the Founding Fathers were) and yet their actions and their words tell us otherwise. They are small-minded and frightened, holding aloft signs portraying the duly-elected President of this country as a Nazi or a Stalinist or a Fascist, having little knowledge of the history of any of those movements. Would their venom, their hatred be as vicious and as fueled by anger and bloodlust if the President of the United States were white?

  They may be part of America, but it is the ugliest part and I want nothing to do with their white sheet summer sale activities. Instead, I’ll focus on whether my favorite pitcher, Barry Zito of the Giants, can finally put together a solid year and leave the mound a winner by season’s end. Or if Jeff Francoeur of the Mets, who plays the game with boundless joy and energy, can manage to drive in 100 runs and hit over .285. They have earned my attention and respect. The Tea Baggers can go and listen to Rush and his distortions of fact and history (you give weight to the words of a drug addict, you deserve to be called knee-walking dumb) or Mr. America himself, Sean Hannity, the angriest multi-millionaire I’ve ever seen. 

  Thanks to baseball, I will be free to ignore Texas and its quest to change the textbooks of their state (and a few others in the process). Here is just one change they are attempting to put into play in order to be, what’s that phrase? Aaaah, yes. Fair and balanced. They would like to eliminate or minimize Thomas Jefferson and his place in history and replace him with that genius of the modern era, Newt Gingrich. Let’s see now. We lose the man who wrote the Declaration of Independence and pick a man who condemned President Clinton for cheating on his wife while he himself was cheating on his wife. That is what Newt brings to the table, plus the fact he has put his name on the cover of a number of unreadable books. In his circles, that ranks him as a genius. Forget him and pay attention to Cole Hamels of the Phillies and see if he can have a solid rebound year or if the Mets pitching rotation is indeed a shambles once we get past Santana.

   I have no room these next few months for Mitt or Rudy and have long walked away from trying to figure out one sentence ever uttered by Sarah Palin that actually makes sense. I would much rather see Derek Jeter throw one from deep in the hole or Pudge Rodriquez call a game as only he can.  Karl Rove will remain on mute while I sit back and watch the great Pujols jack another one out of the park. And Jim Bunning can just disappear into the Kentucky sunset, a bitter old man who once was a great ballplayer.

 Perhaps by the time the first phenom of spring training turns into an early season bust, the job market will continue to improve and people out of work for far too long will find that steady paycheck they so desperately need. For them, it has been the longest of winters and listening to the inaccurate words of angry men fanning flames of racism and hate will not help them get any closer to that elusive job. But spending a few hours watching or listening to a baseball game, in the dead of summer, surrounded by a young son or daughter, maybe while tossing a ball, might be exactly what they need to temporarily put their problems aside. 

 And while China and India go all-in on green energy and jobs, the President is mocked for wanting to focus on the future and bring those jobs to our shores. Instead, we continue to feed our jones for oil, mock climate change and try to lessen the importance of science in our schools, looking to replace it with that seven-day wonder, creationism. I doubt very much the world was created in seven days or six, though I never doubt Babe Ruth called that home run shot back in his glory days and Gaylord Perry threw a spitter every chance he had and with great effect.

 It is now the time for baseball.

It is a sport that once was guilty of the worst kind of racism and it then made the move to correct that horrible injustice. And guess what happened? It only became a greater game. All the screamers and haters sitting in the safe seats (the tea baggers of their day) spewed their venon and ridicule. Other players turned their backs on teammates because of the color of their skin. But the game survived. Those players who stood tall are long remembered and honored. And those others, the ones filled with contempt and jealousy and hate? No one even remembers their names and if they do, it is often with scorn attached.

 So, goodbye to the insane Congresswoman from Minnesota. Aloha to the Minority Leader with the addiction to tanning salons. And a justified turning of the back to every leader of the Catholic Church. It would be wise for them to remember the words of the man whose life they claim to follow: “Whatever you do to the least of me, you do to me.”

If they were true men of faith, they would resign in shame and leave the church in the hands of those who care and do the actual work, the foot soldiers of the faith–the nuns and the brothers.

But all that is for another day and best left to a greater power.

I will instead listen to the soothing words of the great man himself, Vin Scully, as he begins to announce another season of Dodger baseball. He does it with modesty, class, intelligence and a deep knowledge of the game he so very much loves. He is indeed a rare gift and one to be cherished.

 It is time for baseball. A fresh and clean start.

And time to wash away the hatred and filth of a long and ugly winter.