Baseball as Metaphor
My son’s team played its last game of the season last night. It was perfect weather: mid-seventies, breezy enough that the mosquitoes didn’t plague us. There were enough puffy clouds at the horizon to enhance the sunset. And the boys won, securing first place in their division.
A spirit of good humor hung over the ball field. No one wanted to leave. When the game was over, our head coach approached the other team’s coach about playing one more inning that wouldn’t count–just for the fun of it. Right-handed boys batted leftie; lefties tried right-handed. Catchers pitched; pitchers caught. Laughter filled the air.
When that inning was done, my son and his teammates still wanted to play, so they took the field and the coaches, parents and siblings took turns batting. The coaches acquitted themselves admirably, and the crowd got a kick out of watching the dad who had the most batting advice for his son all summer strike out–twice. He took it in stride, laughing at himself, too.
Finally, as it was growing too dark to play, we went out for ice cream.
It was an idyllic night, and it made me think about how many great baseball stories there are. Writers and filmmakers have tried with other sports, notably golf, and most of them fail. (There are exceptions, of course: Bend it Like Beckham; Any Given Sunday). But there are a lot of good baseball stories.
My favorite novel that involves baseball is Michael Chabon’s funny, sad, sweet Summerland, which I read to my kids one summer. Baseball, mythological creatures, a kick-ass girl pitcher, a dirigible and a melancholy boy make for some glorious reading.
And then there are the baseball movies: Field of Dreams. A League of Their Own. Bull Durham. The Sandlot.
Why is baseball such a potent metaphor? It has been bent to every purpose from coming of age to sexual awakening to spiritual reconciliation. After a night like last night, all I know is that I’d love to read or watch another great baseball story.