Baseball & Frailty

I’ve often said that other than the things that actually matter in life, baseball is my favorite thing in the world.  Occasionally, those things that matter will collide with baseball in a startling way.  Today is one of those times.  Last night I watched Angels pitcher Nick Adenhart make only his fourth career big league start, allowing no runs and striking out five over six innings, only to have the bullpen cough it up in the ninth inning.  This morning on a break at work, I went on the Internet and discovered that Nick Adenhart is dead.  After the game his car was struck by a hit-and-run driver, slamming it into a light post.  He died in surgery about six o’clock this morning.

People die, and die tragically, everyday.  Open the newspaper, watch TV, or surf the web and you’ll see and hear stories about people killed in car accidents, drive by shootings, in wars, disease, or one of any other of endless possibilities.  In just the last couple months we’ve seen stories of police officers gunned down in the line of duty and a group of immigrants murdered while taking a citizenship test.  All unexpected, all tragic.  Nick Adenhart being a professional baseball player doesn’t make his death any more or any less tragic than these others, but perhaps because we often see professional athletes as being at least physically impervious to the pitfalls of this world, it makes a big impact.  Here he was, 22 years old, his whole life and career ahead of him with seemingly nothing to stand in his way to success and fortune.  Now its all gone.  In the case of those police officers in Oakland and Pittsburgh, while we don’t expect our cities finest to be gunned down in the street on a weekly basis, we know that its a dangerous job and that they knew that when they signed up, so while we don’t, and shouldn’t, accept it maybe it doesn’t seem quite as inconceivable.  In a professional athlete we see an insular life of privilege and wealth, not often found amongst the ranks of law enforcement officers.  But now we are reminded–because we already knew it in the back of our minds–that all the money and privilege in the world can’t insulate anyone totally from the travails of life.

And so we’re left to wonder, why?  Why are those whose futures appear so bright taken from us by those who, at the same age, already have DUI convictions on their record and a suspended license?  It isn’t fair.  But we know life isn’t fair, don’t we?  If it was, would a perfect Man have to have died to pay for the crimes of you and me?  This life is frail.  It can seem sturdy and well constructed on the outside, but the frame and foundation may be crumbling and we don’t even know it and it could come to a crashing end at anytime.  The only certainty is Christ.  Hebrews 13:5 says, “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ”Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”  All the money in the world can’t guarantee you a thing, but once Christ is in your corner there’s no losing.  No more bullpen to blow a solid start.  He’ll be with you all the way.  If he’s not in your corner yet, don’t hesitate.  I hope Nick Adenhart didn’t.

It’s Over

It’s been over for nearly a week and I’m only now able to talk about it.  Red Sox 3, Angels 1.  Series, Boston.  As usual.

Eric Aybar’s failure to get the suicide squeeze down in the ninth (the image of which I kept seeing repeatedly in my mind’s eye for three solid days) was the series in microcosm for the Halos. They didn’t play like a team that won 100 games, with countless defensive miscues (including Willits diving for Bay’s looper), some blockheaded baserunning, and atrocious hitting with RISP. To be honest, they were lucky to be where they were, winning one game and on the verge of taking a late lead in another. This of course only makes it more painful. If they had played their best and still lost at least then they could walk away with their heads held high knowing they gave it all they could. Instead, they (and I) will have the gnawing feeling that they should have done better all winter long. Getting eliminated in the playoffs always hurts because it seems like the road to get back is so very long and there is no guarantee you will be back, no matter how much money is spent.

As the late great A. Bartlett Giamatti said, “[Baseball] breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.”  Besides the specific bummed-outedness of my team getting eliminated from the playoffs, I always have a more general feeling of melancholy when the baseball season ends.  For nine months baseball is woven into the fabric of my everyday life.  Whether its checking the box scores or my fantasy team or talking about last nights game with friends or co-workers or listening to a game on the radio on a warm summer night while heading home after my own softball game.  The world seems a lesser place without it.  But the winter cold will numb this year’s pain and by the time spring rolls around hope will blossom once again and we’ll start the whole cycle all over again.  To paraphrase Roy Hobbs, “Man, I love baseball.”

Fear and Loathing

In the words of Tom Paine, these are the times that try men’s souls.  There is panic in the air and uncertainty is the order of the day.  The outlook is grim and complete and total collapse appear imminent.  To make matters worse we are all powerless to stop it.  The only options left are to hope and pray.  Yes, the Boston Red Sox have once again humiliated the Angels in October.

I got to my TV in the fourth inning of last night’s opening game of the Divisional Playoff series between the Angels and Red Sox, and the Angels were up 1-0.  It didn’t last long.  John Lackey pitched exceptionally well save for one horribly located pitch that Jason Bay sent deep into the Orange County night to give the Red Sox a lead they would not relinquish.  What is it about the Red Sox that turns the Angels from a 100 game winning Major League Baseball team into a bunch of cowardly little leaguers.  Yes, Boston has good pitching, but it isn’t like the Angels haven’t seen good pitching before, including the guys they’re facing in this series.  In the past seven post season games between these two teams going back to 2004 the Angels have been outscored something like 173-8.  Ok, maybe its not that bad, but it might as well be.  That’s what it feels like.

As I watched the game last night, in between holding my head in my hands after Vlad’s terrible baserunning and screaming unflattering things about Gary Matthews after his seventh inning error, which thankfully didn’t hurt them (Matthews should be buying Darren Oliver a new car for bailing him out), an unsettling fear crept over me.  The fear that we will never beat these guys when it counts.  We were 8-1 against them in the regular season and most of those were old fashioned woodshed beatings.  But come October and these guys cower behind their halos.

I used to root for the Red Sox, as long as it didn’t interfere with the Angels’ plans, despite of their faux-underdoggedness.  Now, I loathe them.  I loathe them because ESPN can’t stop gushing about them, I loathe them because their “fans” are everywhere, I loathe them because of Kevin Youkilis’ goatee, I loathe them because Jason Varitek is a blackhole in the lineup and still manages to do something to hurt you, I loathe them for their smugness.  But most of all I loathe them for runining two of my last four Octobers.  And I fear their doing it again.

The Postseason

Today is the first day of the MLB postseason and I’ll admit I’ve already got butterflies.  My Angels will face the Red Sox, starting tonight at seven, for the third time in five years and hopefully can perform a little better than in the past.  Going back to the 1986 American League Championship series the Halos have lost nine straight playoff games to the Sox, a trend that must end or I may end up performing a spleenectomy on myself with a butter knife.  Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Josh The Rev is out of town, so I’ll be running the show at youth group tonight which starts at precisely the same moment John Lackey will be throwing the first pitch of the game.  Nothing like watching a playoff game on tape delay.  You owe me Carrillo!

Hopefully in the coming weeks I’ll have lots of happy baseball thoughts to report.  If I appear to be mysteriously absent from these quarters for a prolonged length of time, check the box scores.  If the Angels have not fared well, you may want to alert the authorities and request a check the welfare.  Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that either.  Go Vlad go!

Let’s Play Two!

As weekends go this past one is hard to beat.  On Friday night I went to the Angels-A’s game in Oakland with my buddy Jon the Green Beret, who was home on leave, and a few other friends.  It was good to see Jon.  It had been probably close to two years the last time he was in Santa Rosa and in the meantime had been to Germany, Afghanistan, and other undisclosed exotic locations.  Even though I hadn’t seen him face to face in a long time, we had communicated fairly frequently via email.  I was thinking about how much different communication with military personel is now than how it used to be not all that long ago.  Can you imagine trying to communicate with someone stationed way out in the Afghan boondocs 15, maybe even 10 years ago?  It would’ve been exceedingly slow, if even possible at all.  But email has changed all that.  In fact its so much easier that not only were Jon and I able to have the kind of correspondense usually commonplace between those in the field and those at home in any era (“how are you”, “be safe”, “everyone back here is thinking about you guys”, “went on patrol today”, that kind of stuff), but I even got a few forwarded email jokes and chainletters.  When I really think about that it kind of blows my mind.  Here’s my buddy in a combat zone (which, I told him, still weirds me out a little) with the time and ability to forward a joke about giraffes.  What an interesting time we live in.

Anyway, back to the game.  It was good to spend time with Jon and the other guys that came along, and also Jon’s wife and parents, and retell the stories from the old days and get a little glimpse of what Afghanistan was like.  I would’ve loved to talk about that with him more, but there wasn’t time and I’m sure that wasn’t the first thing he would want to relive after just getting home.  We had awesome seats, field level 1st base side 23 rows back, and the Angels won so I was a happy camper all around.

The next night Jen, Lily, and I again returned to Oak-town for game two of the series.  This was my early Father’s Day present and I think Jen has set the future bar a little high for herself.  This one will be hard to top.  The seats were even better than the night before, same general area but a section closer to home plate and row 14.  The Angels were again victorious, though Frankie Rodriguez made things a little interesting in the bottom of the ninth.  Lily was a champ all night and I think she enjoyed her first ball game.

Both nights I was bold and was decked out in full Angels gear.  On Sunday my father-in-law pointed out that I went one night with a Green Beret and one night with a baby to protect myself from getting harassed.  Well, duh.  What am I, an idiot?  Speaking of the baby, she was the hit of our section even though even she was also in full Angels regalia.  Her cuteness overcame the cold, hardened hearts of even the most misguided A’s fans.  A fellow Angel fan told Jen as he passed by, “You’re raising her right.”  There was a postgame fireworks show on Saturday night and we tried to stay for it, but after about three big “BOOMS” Lily had had enough and we headed for home.

It doesn’t get much better than a night at the ballpark.  Unless its back-to-back nights at the ballpark.