6.21.2004
The Soul of our National Spirit
I was born at the end of the Baby Boom. Officially, I’m a member of Generation X. Despite this, I’ve somehow retained a sense of romanticism and sentimentality for the eras I missed. Much of this is due to the stories told to me by my father and stepfather about Major League Baseball when they were boys.
The league minimum salary for baseball players was just $6,000.00 throughout the 1960’s. Men who played the game then played it not because they were well paid, but because they loved every aspect of the game they played. In a time when ball players make six and seven figures, it is hard to imagine what kind of a thrill it would be to see the “big names” coming out to play for the sheer love of it. Perhaps the large salaries haven’t changed the fundamental love of the game, perhaps they have, but as long as money is made such a large portion of the equation, the question will always be there.
The first time I went to Yankee Stadium was 1981. I was 11 years old. The smells of the Bronx mingled with the smells of peanuts, beer, hotdogs, and then...the light at the end of the tunnel opened up upon a magnificent cathedral of baseball. The wide expanse of well-maintained green, the freshly raked dirt, and the white lines stretching outward made me realize that I was not just in any ballpark, I was in the ballpark. Here was the spirit of Babe Ruth, of Joe DiMaggio, of Mickey Mantle. This was the place where baseball was made holy for all time. There are plenty of other Major League ballparks and great teams, but the Yankees were the team that defined baseball in the 20th Century. Historically, no other team has won more Pennants or World Series than the New York Yankees. No other team has given the country so many heroes to call their own.
That day in 1981 has left an indelible mark upon me. Even though I moved from Upstate New York to Pittsburgh in 1984, I never forgot what that was like. There is no doubt that I was happy to have Three Rivers Stadium as close as a bus ride away, but it was a stadium that was born the same year I was, it had no history before that. I remember one summer several years later when I was in college, my mother sent me a newspaper clipping photo of the last time Roberto Clemente was at-bat at Forbes Field; it was the day I was born. I still have that clipping. Three Rivers Stadium had its own charm, but it wasn’t the same thing as a ballpark that had stood for nearly a century. Now even Three Rivers Stadium has become nothing but a memory, yet Yankee Stadium endures.
Baseball has faded a bit in the fast-paced world of the Information Age. As the world has grown smaller, people have lost patience with a game that unfolds oblivious to time. Baseball has always been a game that collected its fair share of memorable moments, while demanding that fans also bear witness to the routine. As with so many other human endeavors; in order to see us at our best, we have to be willing to sit through the everything else as well. These days, it seems just catching the highlights is good enough for many.
Baseball defined this nation. It defined our hearts and our souls. It gave us something to hope for; it gave us something to come together on a summer afternoon and it gave us something to believe in. The loss of this identity with baseball has meant the loss of something quintessential in the American consciousness. It isn’t so much the loss of moral values or manners that has caused our country to decline; it is the loss of baseball.
© 2004, J.S.Brown
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The league minimum salary for baseball players was just $6,000.00 throughout the 1960’s. Men who played the game then played it not because they were well paid, but because they loved every aspect of the game they played. In a time when ball players make six and seven figures, it is hard to imagine what kind of a thrill it would be to see the “big names” coming out to play for the sheer love of it. Perhaps the large salaries haven’t changed the fundamental love of the game, perhaps they have, but as long as money is made such a large portion of the equation, the question will always be there.
The first time I went to Yankee Stadium was 1981. I was 11 years old. The smells of the Bronx mingled with the smells of peanuts, beer, hotdogs, and then...the light at the end of the tunnel opened up upon a magnificent cathedral of baseball. The wide expanse of well-maintained green, the freshly raked dirt, and the white lines stretching outward made me realize that I was not just in any ballpark, I was in the ballpark. Here was the spirit of Babe Ruth, of Joe DiMaggio, of Mickey Mantle. This was the place where baseball was made holy for all time. There are plenty of other Major League ballparks and great teams, but the Yankees were the team that defined baseball in the 20th Century. Historically, no other team has won more Pennants or World Series than the New York Yankees. No other team has given the country so many heroes to call their own.
That day in 1981 has left an indelible mark upon me. Even though I moved from Upstate New York to Pittsburgh in 1984, I never forgot what that was like. There is no doubt that I was happy to have Three Rivers Stadium as close as a bus ride away, but it was a stadium that was born the same year I was, it had no history before that. I remember one summer several years later when I was in college, my mother sent me a newspaper clipping photo of the last time Roberto Clemente was at-bat at Forbes Field; it was the day I was born. I still have that clipping. Three Rivers Stadium had its own charm, but it wasn’t the same thing as a ballpark that had stood for nearly a century. Now even Three Rivers Stadium has become nothing but a memory, yet Yankee Stadium endures.
Baseball has faded a bit in the fast-paced world of the Information Age. As the world has grown smaller, people have lost patience with a game that unfolds oblivious to time. Baseball has always been a game that collected its fair share of memorable moments, while demanding that fans also bear witness to the routine. As with so many other human endeavors; in order to see us at our best, we have to be willing to sit through the everything else as well. These days, it seems just catching the highlights is good enough for many.
Baseball defined this nation. It defined our hearts and our souls. It gave us something to hope for; it gave us something to come together on a summer afternoon and it gave us something to believe in. The loss of this identity with baseball has meant the loss of something quintessential in the American consciousness. It isn’t so much the loss of moral values or manners that has caused our country to decline; it is the loss of baseball.
“People will come, Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn into your driveway, not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door, as innocent as children, longing for the past. "Of course, we won't mind if you look around," you'll say, "It's only twenty dollars per person." And they'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for its money they have and peace they lack.
And they'll walk off to the bleachers and sit in their short sleeves on a perfect afternoon. And find they have reserved seats somewhere along the baselines where they sat when they were children. And cheer their heroes. And they'll watch the game, and it'll be as they'd dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick; they'll have to brush them away from their faces.
The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is 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.”
Terrence Mann (James Earl Jones): Field of Dreams
TANSTAAFL!
© 2004, J.S.Brown
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