Getting Real – Part 3!

Continuation of Chapter 53 of my Book, If I Knew Then What I Know Now.

Through a transparent mist, a panoramic scope of a vast baseball history came into view. And I appeared to be in the company of not two but three other observers, with mutual admiration for the sporting activity we had become accustomed to enjoying as a game called baseball. Our endless journey would attempt to extract from hope the eternal promise of assurance that “becoming” eventuates into “true being.”

Perched high above the clamor of enthusiastic fanfare, Socrates, Plato, myself, and The Other—as restrained spectators—quietly engaged in a traditional dialogue about the nuances of the game. Our choices of viewing location varied along heavenly porches, upon the rooftop of any stadium that afforded prime viewing. There we would witness the glorious competition below, which triumphantly celebrated the athletic prowess of at least eighteen stellar performers in our midst.

In the relative solitude of our lofty perch, only the faintness of extraneous sound vaporized in its skyward trek. Our philosophical impressions were innocently conveyed to each other in summations that only acquiesced to the game’s simplistic appeal.

Plato sounded out the first volley of reasonable commentary with the words, “Sports fans, have we not been witnessing within the framework of organized athletics an activity which truly embodies the essence of divine intervention?” Socrates affirmatively replied with a nod but quickly asked, “How can such heavenly synchronization be conjoined to the conscious deployment of human intent?”

I thought of my days of youth—when my brother, friends, and I would swarm onto any grassy area of Lasky or Jayne Field and pitch four improvised bases down within the parameters of a diamond-shaped infield. We’d then start a game of baseball, whose customary “nine inning” time frame was circumvented to better accommodate a continuity preempted only by the setting sun.

If eight or nine players were on each team, all fields were fair. But most often we played with five or fewer on each side. These scenarios made it practical to designate one area of the field automatically “out” if the batter hit the ball there. That designated area was always the right field side, because no one we knew batted lefthanded. And all batters, therefore, unwittingly developed the tendency to “pull the ball” to left. (If we knew then what we would know later, we could have developed a strategy for hitting pitches away to the opposite field.)

Coming Soon: Part 4.

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