The moral of this story is easy – the more you can afford to pay your players, the better chance you have of being world champions. The Yankees have, by far, the highest payroll in baseball – just because they can.
A sub-moral also emerges: the baseball season is way too long. When teams start the season with a chance of snow and the World Series ends with a possibility of snow, that’s too long. The Boys of Summer become the Boys of All Seasons.
Actually, baseball offers a lot of morals – at all levels. A Chandler, Ariz. author has just released an inspirational book for kids “using baseball as a fun analogy,” according to a press release.
Titled “Imagine That,” “the book takes youngsters to the ballpark to see a little slugger turn to Jesus in the midst of a nail-biting inning. The author shows children in a fun and exciting story that Jesus is our friend who desires for us to put our trust in him for whatever life pitches.”
Get it? “Whatever life pitches.”
But I’m not sure I’d consider that “a fun analogy. And I would have thought that Jesus might be too busy with important matters to help a “little slugger” succeed in a game of absolutely no consequence to the human race. Or that maybe He would figure that it’s character-building for “little sluggers” to learn to fight their own battles.
Apparently not. Apparently little leaguers can ask
Jesus to help them beat the snot out of other little leaguers, and He’ll do it.
But then I’m also surprised that nations ask Jesus to help them destroy other nations with whom they’re at war. You would think Jesus would just say, “Enough. I don’t condone war so I am not going to help you win. I don’t care if they are Muslims. They still have a right to live.”
But this is about baseball.
Growing up in Michigan, I hated the Yankees. Those were the days when Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris were chasing Babe Ruth’s home run record. Then there was Whitey Ford and Yogi Berra and Bill Skowron and Billy Martin and on and on and on. They might as well have all been carrying pitchforks and sporting tails.
That was before the playoff era, and my beloved Detroit Tigers competed in the American League against the Yankees each year. Each year they won and we lost. Back then, like today, the big market Yankees had an unfair advantage.
Of course, it’s not just the Yankees spending the big bucks. The Los Angeles Dodgers will pay Manny Ramirez $20 million next year. Will the Diamondbacks ever be able to pay a player that kind of money? Not likely.
But we adults can deal with it better than kids. As Stephen Colbert pointed out the other night, at least the Yankees World Series victory is proof that the free enterprise system works.
As a kid, it was harder to understand – and to take. But I didn’t realize back then how Jesus might have helped. If I had been able to read “Imagine That” during my childhood, I would most certainly have sicced Jesus on those damn Yankees.
It may be impossible for the Tigers or the Diamondbacks to take out the Yankees (2001 notwithstanding), but I’m willing to bet that Jesus could do it without even working up a sweat.
Not long ago, on a trip back to Michigan, I took The Consort to the ballfield where I played little league baseball 55 years ago. It was behind my really old elementary school, which is still in use.
While the ball field has been replaced by a fancier field right next to it, the old backstop was still standing. I walked over to it, stood right about where home plate used to be, and displayed for her the infamous stance (see photo) I used to blast a total of three home runs during my entire multi-year little league career.
Photo by The Consort
Here I am back on my little league field 55 years later. Back then, it was all dirt. Amazing how grass grows in Michigan.
It was great to re-live that modest career, but I couldn’t help feeling cheated. I don’t know what Jesus was doing back when I was playing little league ball, but it never once occurred to me back then to ask him to help me poke a few more out of the park.
I have to wonder if “Imagine That” isn’t yet another example of how adults can’t leave kids to their own devices these days. Our little league games were played during the day when parents were at work.
While my parents never saw me play, that meant they never interfered, argued with the umps, or put extra pressure on me either. And we didn’t have to contend with books written by adults suggesting that we invoke Jesus to help us through that “nail-biting inning.”
But maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, I can still make a request. What have I got to lose?
Dear Jesus: would you please put a hex or a curse or something on those damn Yankees?
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