If I could change one (of many) things in history, this ball park would be standing and the one in Chavez Ravine would never have been built. Alas, history never follows a script. And if it could, there would be too many ad-libs.
This season, at least, both New York baseball teams have been scheduled for post-season play - as happened many times in the past, when there were three major league teams in the five boroughs. By the time this entry is made public, there is a high likelihood that one (or both) of them will be eliminated from eligibility to play in the World Series.
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For many generations, Baseball has been the one sport that has reflected the ethos of America - for better and worse. It has reflected corruption in both players (Chicago Black Sox) and owners (Charlie Cominsky). It has reflected the racial prejudices of this country with segregated baseball teams and leagues. It has reflected unrestrained greed. But yet, it has also reflected what is best in America - a nation with a cultural language which has been shared by almost all as they assimilate into the larger whole.
I grew up when New York City baseball was at a nadir. The Dodgers and Giants had already departed for the West Coast, leaving the New York region with a single baseball franchise, the Yankees, which was being treated like a cash cow by its owners. By the time CBS took over the franchise, the Yankees were heading for a last place finish - for the first time since before Babe Ruth joined the team. And CBS had no clue about what it could do with the team. (Contrast this with Ted Turner, who made the Braves a centerpiece of his entertainment empire about 25 years later.) The Mets were a joke - a group of has-beens and never-will-bes that couldn't win - even if the other team didn't show up.
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The nature of the game of baseball is virtually unique among sports. It doesn't follow a clock, save the interruptions mandated by modern day advertising. It is both an individual sport and a team sport - where a batter is opposed by the nine other players on the field. An individual may sacrifice his chance to be on-base in order to advance a runner to a better position - much like in real life, where someone might "fall on his sword" to protect someone else. It is a game where both the individual and team is celebrated, and as such unusual among sports. (Yes, we may think of Quarterbacks in American Football. But in many ways, they are simply hands-on field managers, and not much more than that in an overall view of the game.)
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Baseball idioms have infused themselves into almost every part of American life - even sex. When people differ in what "first base" and "second base" refers to, they do have an idea of how "far" one got (or how much was achieved) when in the act of "love making". Many decades after the poem was written, people still understand why there is no joy in Mudville. And in my generation, many still knew of Baseball's Sad Lexicon - where bear cubs could make a giant hit into a double - long after the Giants departed the Polo Grounds, and long after Tinker, Evers and Chance have passed away.
Since the month of October will be Baseball's last hurrah before football season takes hold, I'd like to leave you with the immortal poem by Franklin Pierce Adams....
These are the saddest of possible words:
"Tinker to Evers to Chance."
Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,
Tinker and Evers and Chance.
Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,
Making a Giant hit into a double –
Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:
"Tinker to Evers to Chance."
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