Going to the Ball Game

It was your typical Wisco summer day. The sky was blue and cloudless, trees green and the air buzzing with more biting insects than you can shake a swatter at. We were in the Jeep, and I was about to be 'adjusted'. No this wasn't part of some American initiation ceremony where new immigrants get strapped to a chair with their eyes clamped open and forced to watch every Eddie Murphy fat suit movie in quick succession. Thankfully this adjustment would be restricted to my vertebrae and stay a safe distance from my cranium.



The visit to the chiropractors owed more to a fascination over what exotic noises my back would make when manipulated than any serious medical need. Although as it happens I found out I have one shoulder significantly lower than the other. This was probably due to carrying a bag over just one of them for all those school years. I castigated myself on all the time spent laughing at the French exchange students. Look who's laughing now. This aside the upshot of all the satisfying back cracking was that Dr Dave offered Liz and I his box seats for the local baseball team on the upcoming weekend as he would be out of town. Never missing an opportunity for a cultural caper (or a freebie) we duly accepted.



Sunday rolled around and after a busy day stripping and painting chairs (we are preparing our furniture) we headed off to the ball game. Baseball is played in the evening during the summer months and as a spectator sport is in the same phylum as cricket - largely an excuse for groups to congregate and mingle with little chance of missing anything crucial during beer runs. Liz, a veteran of the Eau Claire softball circuit was called upon to give me regular briefings on precisely every aspect of the game. As a quick learner I effortlessly mastered the concepts (I spend most of my day writing CV's) of 'a double' and 'a full count' which in the words of Liz is a point at which 'something will definitely happen' - beer runners beware. The old timer to my right sat nervously as if next to a crazy person one wouldn't want to offend. We later heard that the old chap upon next seeing Dr Dave exclaimed incredulously that 'That guy didn't seem to know a thing about baseball!'.



Between innings, of which there are nine, members of the crowd took part in competitions on the pitch such as pulling a portaloo, spinning round for ten seconds before racing for the finish and blind folded ball chasing. In all of these a huge fuzzy mascot was on hand to ensure that the smallest, youngest and slowest would always prevail. By tackling, and pinning their stronger opponents 'Trax' enforced an on field inferiocracy. There was also the mass participation sport of opposing sides of the stadium seeing who could sing a popular advertising jingle the loudest.



More than anything though, the ball game is a chance for the community to connect, the team is sponsored by local people and local businesses, and the familiarity with which the crowd greets each other reflects this feeling of family. The singing of the national anthem and even more so, baseball's own official anthem 'Take me out to the ball game' may sound like an exercise in wholesome hokum but what's wrong with that? Why have we made wholesomeness a bad thing in our cynical postmodern world? By scoffing at those things that seem unblemished by the 'real world' we create a mindset whereby the profane becomes inevitable. I have to say that I liked the ball game, the family atmosphere and the feeling of community because in connects us to a more innocent time. I think we can all do with a little more innocence.