Another sucky loss yesterday, but it reminds me of why I like sports and baseball in particular.
John Maine was pitching a good game, as was the Cubs’ starter Ted Lilly. The wheels fell off the orange-and-blue bus in the third when, after some close calls and outs not made and an out made but not called, Maine surrendered six runs. We got into a deep hole and Lilly pitched well. We were able to scratch out two runs but lost the game 6-2.
Something similar happened in a game against the Pirates. Our pitcher, Oliver Perez, was untouchable, showing that he was very capable of hurling a no-hitter. Through five innings, he cruised. Then with the wheels again. Odd hits, bad bounces, and suddenly five Pirates had crossed the plate. We went on to lose the game, 8-4.
The Mets’ ups and downs — and any teams’, for that matter — can be tracked on the various fan blogs and message boards. For each time Maine and Perez are declared The Man and our Ace, the player stumbles and — of all the nerve! — loses a game. Lastings Milledge is anointed the Mets’ “Who’s Next?” (to steal an ESPNism), but then he misplays a fly ball and strikes out in key situation and pretty much looks like what he is: an extremely talented 22-year-old with a mere 78 big league games under his belt.
The season isn’t a straight path that goes from Spring Training directly to the World Series. Every season is like a life: preparations made, goals achieved and missed, mistakes made, decisions good and bad, chances given, chances blown, obstacles overcome, temptations succumbed to, diligence and dalliance, failure and success. There are numerous opportunities for failure and numerous opportunities for redemption. You just have to hang in there, you have to not give up, you have to believe.
And at the end of each season everything dies, lays fallow over the winter (OK, except the hot stove action), and gets reborn in the spring. Is this a great game, or what?
I believe in the Church of Baseball. I’ve tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I’ve worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn’t work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there’s no guilt in baseball, and it’s never boring… which makes it like sex. … It’s a long season and you gotta trust. I’ve tried ‘em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball.
— Annie Savoy, in Bull Durham
