I don’t need Baseball.
In 1981, Major league baseball went on strike for the first time since 1972. I don’t remember anything about the ‘72 strike because we didn’t watch it regularly. The ‘81 strike was different because WTBS was offered on cable here in Quitman and dad had in at the house.
TBS showed the Braves games of whom he was a big fan and when they were on, he was watching, and if you wanted to visit, that’s what ya’ll did.
The ‘81 strike took a large chunk out of the season, 713 games exactly, and left a bad taste in both of our mouths. It was really the beginning of the end for me and major league baseball.
My dad and I both loved baseball. He played it a lot longer than I did from school days through WWII and after he came home and played locally with Mr. Billy Dabbs team. From all accounts he was a pretty good ball player but like a lot of things we love, time and experiences seem to keep us from them. I liked baseball a lot but didn’t have the desire to succeed to go along with that love to push myself to get better. I like to think sometimes that I would’ve if I could’ve because I should’ve but I see the past pretty clearly. I know pretty well that I was average at my best because I did play against some that were really better than average, but I’m ok with that. I didn’t really understand that love of the game until I didn’t play it any more.
I was blessed enough to be on the QHS high school team and in the summer leagues. I’m not sure why I enjoyed the summer leagues more but one coach in particular was a reason.
Mr. Robert Pepper coached us one or two years of Dixie League ball. He allowed us to play any position we thought we wanted to try. It made it so much fun I think to know that if you could handle the position you could be penciled in that day.
He gave me more impetus from our discussions about going on to college to play ball but by then I was really tired of school and just wanted to get out. I sometimes think about what if? But it is what it is. Right?
When the MLB strike ended the All Star game started the resumption of play. Attendance was down in almost all cities and TV ratings slumped sharply. I really quit making an effort to watch, and it seemed that dad wasn’t all that excited either, and I just kind of fell away from the game.
From both of our perspectives it seemed that no one could be right about going on strike from a game, and especially those getting paid to play at that. It seemed like the next time I noticed anything about baseball the ‘94 strike ended the season. Dad and I didn’t need to discuss it that much because we felt the same. I haven’t watched a dozen games since then.
What is it about things we love and desire that we allow to take a large part of our lives that really don’t have any meaning to dwell upon? I’m not talking necessarily about baseball but anything that we allow to control a large part of our time. We have dreams and ambitions when we are young that are overridden by mistakes and lack of wisdom.
H.D. Thoreau said, “The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length, the middle-aged man concludes to build a woodshed with them”.
I don’t have regrets except for time spent doing for me when I could’ve spent doing for God. Just like my love of baseball went missing my desire to build a bridge to the moon went along with it. It’s not that I don’t have desires; it’s just that they are of the kind that you have when you are older. That the young can see clearer than you did. That those you are given the chance to teach will listen better than you did. That life is about you and your relationship with God.
Until next week. ags.
