"They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it, for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers, sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces.
"People will come, Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good and that could be again. Oh . . . people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."
--James Earl Jones,
"Field of Dreams"
Philip Martin, of these and most pages in this paper, said Thursday: Time begins today. Because it's baseball season, Ray. After all the delays, it's finally here. Baseball. The one constant through all the years.
Well, maybe not that constant. The National League will have designated hitters this year. Which is fine by us. Somebody on the radio said pitchers went 1-for-60 in the playoffs last year. Sometimes a change helps a game.
Although baseball may be on television this week, it doesn't feel the same.
The Travs aren't playing, for one. The minor leagues shut everything down, for safety reasons. (For those who still think the virus is a hoax, why did the minors--and the majors--lose tens of millions of dollars already through lost gate receipts?)
Some of us don't count March 20 as the first day of spring because the Travs don't play until April. Those of us old-timers who bemoaned the loss of Ray Winder Field quickly found a home at Dickey-Stephens Park. And looked forward to those hot dogs, pop-up foul balls into the stands, and the roar of the crowd when the center fielder chased down a liner.
Add to that people watching. The old couples and young couples. The kids eating cotton candy. And the 50-something men pointing to the field, explaining the base running to the kids next to them--passing on the knowledge of when to steal against a lefty and when to score from second. These things have to be taught. After all, baseball is the thinking man's game, unlike football.
Speaking of which, it was George Carlin who once said baseball is better than football because it's played in a park, not on a gridiron with field generals throwing bombs between ground attacks. In baseball, the late great Mr. Carlin said, the object is to go home and be safe.
And now we are all at home, trying to be safe, and our favorite minor league teams have been shut down. No stadium beer, no cotton candy, no people watching. There won't even be people to watch on television when the big leaguers play this weekend.
Watching baseball on television will have to do, but that's all it is: something that will have to do. A substitute for the real thing. Sorta like these home-microwaved hot dogs. For some of us, 2020 can't be over fast enough.
Play ball, we suppose. But it won't be the same until we sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. At Dickey-Stephens Park.