Passing Time Pastime

It would seem an odd time to become suddenly obsessed with baseball. But this time, to barely scratch the surface, is indeed odd. For the first time since the strike in 1994, Major League Baseball and to that matter all baseball is currently put on hold. Nonetheless, with my writing schedule wrapping up at the same time the COVID-19 coronavirus was ramping-up, I found myself with a fair amount of free time on my hands. So I began the quarantine binge of online entertainment. But rather than Tiger King or Animal Crossing which seems to be The Craze™, I began to watch Ken Burns’ eighteen and a half hour documentary miniseries on the history of baseball. Much like Donald Trump’s reaction to the current crisis, my interest in a lengthy documentary on any sort of sport is something that “no one saw coming.” 



My only connection to baseball was playing a single season of little league in 5th grade as a mediocre, grass picking right fielder who, mind you, did make what was awarded “The Best Catch of The Season.” As an overly anxious child, I had an intense fear of the baseball itself; afraid of getting hit by a fly ball while playing in the outfield, afraid of hitting the ball at bat and enduring that painful sensation of the metal bat vibrating in my little hands, etc. But during one particularly competitive little league game at an Apex, NC middle school baseball field, a fly ball came hurling towards me in right field and out of fear more than anything else reflexively covered my face with my glove. And with a hollow pop, the ball had landed in my glove…the “Best Catch of The Season.” So besides my short stint as a begrudging ballplayer, I had only attended a handful of baseball games in my life. My father, a talented athlete and sports enthusiast, was more a fan of basketball and football than baseball and thus took the family to college basketball and football games when I was growing up.

However, something clicked in me while watching the first few episodes of Baseball. It seemed to fill a void which the coronavirus had created (for those lucky few of us whose only real burden during this time is being overwhelmed by the news and bored with sheltering in place). The history of baseball seemed to be more about communities and families than base hits. It seemed to be more about what Ebbets Field meant to the residence of Brooklyn and what the century long loosing streak of the Chicago Cubs meant to families in Chicago and how people came together to share in victories and defeats. Its that physical sense of community that Ken Burns’ documentary filled for me. Though a sense of emotional closeness may have rekindled during this time, with spontaneous Zoom sessions with friends and families we in some cases haven’t talked to in years, there is still a void left in me that I believe can only be mended by truly being with family and friends engaging in a shared experience. Maybe even, and I’m as shocked as anyone to be saying this, a baseball game.