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America's pastime is great medicine
By Moryt Milo
When Barry Bonds hit home run 71 and the ball sailed out of the park, San Francisco Giants fans were infused with a pure high. And doing it at home made it that much sweeter.
In our house we yelled, "He did it! He did it!" with high-fives all around, while we watched fans at Pacific Bell Park scream and jump en masse over Barry's amazing feat.
For a brief moment, everything scary that had been assaulting our nation for the past several weeks was knocked right out of our thoughts, along with the home run Bonds knocked right into the upper decks. The Bay Area had a chance to be its old American self, to stop and gawk at Bonds' astounding accomplishment and perhaps take a moment to recall other baseball greats like Ruth, Cobb, DiMaggio, Mantle, Robinson, Mays and Koufax.
Baseball is pure Americana. Not just because it's a sport our country dubbed "America's pastime," but because it's symbolic of our freedom to spend a couple of hours with family and friends doing whatever we want. Whether it's sitting in a baseball park, or gathering around the television, it's this free choice that defines us. From the beer and the hot dogs to the smell of fresh grass and little kids wearing baseball mitts, it all belongs to us.
With all that has happened, we still need baseball and the boys of autumn to play a World Series. We still need to see these things so our lives have a sense of normalcy. We can't live with constant images of horror and talk continually about issues that only fill us with anguish and anger. We need the good stuff too, like pictures of smiling ball players chasing baseball records splashed on the front page of the newspaper.
It may seem trite and trivial to the outside world. But it's not. It's a healthy outlet for our stress and an important healer for our psyches. We can't constantly be slammed in the face with pictures and stories about terrorism, if for no other reason than to give us a break so we can regroup and catch our collective breath.
Don't misunderstand me--I am in no way trying to minimize what has happened and say baseball is more important then ending terrorism or the horrific loss of life our nation has experienced.
I am merely pointing out that as a nation, we also need normal everyday events. We need to feel it, to see it and read about it. We need to know that October still ushers in the World Series and crowns a new champion. We need to know it's still OK to cheer or boo the players, to love them one moment and shake our heads over their miscues the next.
If it seems naive to reduce all that's happened down to whether we play sports--think again. Spending Sundays talking about baseball or watching football instead of calculating our next military maneuver is something I pray never changes as a lifestyle in this country. For as the globe shrinks, it becomes increasingly clear how lucky we Americans are to spend our Sundays, if we choose, talking sports instead of war.
And it's why seeing Barry Bonds' face on the cover of the local newspaper was great. I was tired of looking at Osama bin Laden, reading endless accounts of sadness and waking up to the phrase "Attack on America."
As Barry hit number 73 on the last day of the season, I was awed. I was disappointed that the Giants didn't make the playoffs and concerned about whether Bonds would return next season to play with the orange and black. But for a brief moment, it felt good to worry about something that was all red, white and blue and let my emotions soak in a very American moment.
Contact Moryt Milo via email at morytb@aol.com
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Campbell, California
