Today I’ll be at Camden Yards watching the Orioles play their division rival, the Tampa Bay Rays, with first place on the line. Lucky me, I foresaw this showdown coming a month ago and purchased tickets for the whole family.
By happy coincidence, it’s my twin granddaughters’ 15th birthday. One is a huge fan. The other isn’t. One wears orange-and-black socks. The other doesn’t.
This game is just not her thing. But she’s a good sport. She didn’t choose her quirky family. No one does. But it’s where we learn tolerance and compromise. She’s not thrilled. But she’s here.
A friend with connections has arranged for The Bird to visit us in the stands. Years ago that high-strutting, chest-pounding, tail-flapping mascot gaily wended its way to our seats when the twins were eight. They beamed from ear to ear, cheered, and clapped.
Take our picture! Take our picture!
This time one will offer a nod, a grin, and a wave. The other will hide under the seat.
(Go away! Please. I’m 15 years old, for cryin’ out loud.)
Our seats are in the lower level on the third base side, close enough to see the players’ faces, hear the crack of the bat, and smell the pitcher’s sweat. Tickets cost an arm and leg. Beer, hotdogs, peanuts, and Cracker Jack, a small fortune.
So what?
This is no time to fret about a couple hundred dollars. I mean, when it comes to giving your grandchildren a thrill of a lifetime, a taste of tradition (and a precious memory to share at your memorial service), you’d refinance your house, if you had to.
My dad took me to the ball game. I took my children. Now here I am with their children—two teenage granddaughters, two preteen grandsons (who will probably high-five, if not hug, The Bird).
Like democracy, baseball is a great American tradition. I want my grandchildren to appreciate it. It’s governed by rules. The rules are not self-evident. They must be learned.
Lines mark fair and foul. An umpire calls balls and strikes. Three strikes, you’re out. You respect the call. You don’t stomp up and down on home plate screaming, “LIAR!” and refuse to leave. No, that’s not how the game is played. You go back to the dugout and sit down.
Without lines, an umpire, or enforcement of rules, there’d be no game.
My grandchildren get that.
WITH LUCK THE BRAVES WHO HAVE ALREADY WON THEIR DIVISION WILL PLAY THE ORIOLES FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP. PEACE AND HEALTH, GEORGE
Have an unforgettable and FAB day! Sing our National Anthem so loud and proud we can hear you on German Street! AND Happy Birthday to Paula and Angie!! Beautiful young people. Play ball!!! Rob
“You respect the call. You don’t stomp up and down on home plate screaming, “LIAR!” and refuse to leave.”
I take it you weren’t an Orioles fan in the Earl Weaver era.
Happy Birthday to the twins and have a great day. Hopefully the traffic won’t be toooo bad!
Small world! I know several folks going to the game today, including myself, Chris Madeo and a couple of friends. Never been to a live baseball game. We are sitting a bit higher than you . Cheaper seats is my guess!! If you don’t see us, you will certainly hear us!! I never was one for “keeping it down”. Go Orioles!!
Randy, sounds like you’re sitting near Mr Splash. Don’t get soaked!
Go O’s!!
Baseball, beyond rules and tradition, has influenced our language. Consider the following phrases: “I’ll touch base with you later,” “Let’s cover all the bases,” or “Give me a ballpark figure.” So even if you are not a fan, you may be speaking baseball lingo!
Also, baseball is a metaphor for life. A baseball player has to make constant adjustments at the plate. One never knows what life will throw at you. We hopefully become wise through experiences at our personal and collective plates.
May your day in Camden Yards be a joyful one no matter the score!
Go O’s! I must confess that I am slightly jealous. I picked this year to move to England.
I love how you, so subtly, convey a message. I look forward to you articles every week. Rock on!
Smiling ear to ear here… as baseball fans who’ve enjoyed our share of live games (as kids, as adults, as grandparents), I share in your enthusiasm & your remarks on the game of life & democracy…go O’s & “have a ball” on their birthday…Tradition, memories, & much, much more!
There are many escapes from the daily grind that one can choose to enjoy, but none so perfect as the game of Baseball. The sights, smells, and sounds of the ballpark, a shared cause with 40,000 other rabid fans, being a part of something that is greater than ourselves…baseball itself is a form of religion, and my church is Camden Yards.
Three Strikes and You’re Out!!! Oh, that we had the courage to apply these rules to foot-stomping, spoiled adults who regularly exhibit temper tantrums to get their way…anyone come to mind?
“Let’s meet every Sunday at 11:00 and talk about what we are doing here on earth. Let’s invite kids and grandkids and neighbors.” I am hungry to do church without the religion part. And we are all missing a lot. Need Sunday (Philosophy) School. Need Randy but face-to-face all over the place. How will kids learn to think and talk about important stuff?