Opening day for Major League Baseball was to be today, a ritual and celebration of Spring and sport greater than Easter to many fans. As with so many things affected by the coronavirus, there will be no baseball today and probably for quite some time. Health and safety trump (lower case) even baseball, as they should, but a moment of silence in lieu of “Play Ball” is still warranted.
With that thought, here is a poem from How Not to Write a Poem, and Other Poems:
Field of Dreams
“Baseball is more than a game. It is life played out on a field.”
Juliana Hatfield
The magic that occurs to a little leather ball
in the sixty odd feet between the pitcher’s mound
and home plate is proof if any is needed
that God exists and that he invented baseball
And if you marvel at the complexities
of nature and the mysteries of the universe
you can trace the mischief in his fingerprints
through the mystic depths of the infield fly rule
that quantum state in which a dropped fly
is deemed caught even if it could not have been –
as mysterious as the retrograde of planets
retracing their arcs in the night sky
Where else can cold-blooded statisticians
and grass-stained boys share the uncommon joy
of twelve extra hits in a season
or stand in awe of a sinking fastball
inhale the scent of newly mown grass
hear the crack of hand-sewn leather on ash or
believe the dream of a walk off homer in the ninth?
It may be only a sand lot – but it is also Wrigley Field
Life may feel as cruel and unfair at times
as a called strike that was high inside
but in baseball every day is opening day and
hope lives forever in the two words “Play ball!”
