More than a Game

On a day when I welcomed no distractions whatsoever, my phone was defying my discipline by ringing incessantly.

Given the legal and technical demands of my new project, I wasn’t in the least inclined to answer until curiosity got the better of me. A glance at my messages showed me Fat City Mag was the origin of the calls and of a caller who would not take no for an answer. I had no doubt who the caller was. 

“I hope you weren’t ignoring me,” said Millicent McIvery, a columnist I enjoy for her controversial subjects, her no-holds-barred comments and her wit.

“Perish the thought! What’s on your mind, Millie?”

“An invitation to assist my story in progress. Would you like to come in today to discuss the Pete Rose controversy? I have your favorite chocolates hidden in my drawer, awaiting your arrival.”

“I’m up to my ears today, Millie. It’s demanding, time-consuming and exhausting. I’ll need the weekend to recuperate. Does next week work for you?”

“I’m on deadline this week for the story. Sounds to me like you need a timeout even more than I need a story. That’s two good reasons for us to join forces. Would two more persuade you?”

“Two more what?”

“I’ve got two tickets to tomorrow afternoon’s ball game. Two good seats. You supply the hot dogs. I supply the iced horchata espressos. We both escape our duties for a few hours and our work improves because of it.”

“It does? Just how does it do that?”

“The magic of baseball.”

“Come again?”

“Think about it. We relax, we unwind, we enjoy the bright sunshine and fresh air, we share the game with fans around us and become friends. It’s the ideal place to exchange our ideas about the case of Mr. Rose and his questionable defenders. You’d be surprised who one of them is, if you haven’t already heard. A bad boy with too much power. His power has gone to his head. The rest of his head is empty.”

“So I’ve heard. Well, I’m tempted, but—-“

“Just get up early, write like a champ, and take the afternoon off. You’ve earned it. You deserve it.”

“Maybe I do, but the fact of the matter is—“

“You and I need a ballgame. Remember the last time we saw a game at Oracle? You got clowned by Lou Seal. You caught a foul ball on the bounce and gave it to a little kid who was awestruck. You sang ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game’ like a seventh-inning opera star. And didn’t I hear you say we should do this more often because you’ve always wanted to write a baseball story of your own?”

“I was kidding.” 

“No, you were being genuine. It sounded to me like an honest desire .Well, sir, if you help me write mine, I’ll do the same for you. Do we have a deal? A chat about Rose, hot dogs, horchatas and a game? Deal or no deal?” 

2.

“I don’t understand why you wanted to come out here so early,” I said as we took our seats in the mostly empty baseball stadium. 

“So we can talk. Early birds beat the crowd. And we get to watch batting practice.” 

“Why do we want to see that?”   

“So we can see players the coaches are trying to bring up to speed. Most of the infield is hitting weakly, for example. We’ve got to get our offense going. We can’t just depend on the ERA of starters and relievers. A couple of the hitters seem to me slumped–or should I say stumped? That’s a problem if you have men on base, especially one with the tying run.”

“I’ve noticed they’re dropping a fair share of close ones.”  

“It’s almost as if the boys have lost the ability to have a winning streak. And speaking of problems, I had to skip lunch today. That noisy vendor over there yelling his head off about getting your red hots wouldn’t happen to be selling hot dogs, would he?”

3.

Spring was merging into summer, with brisk winds from the bay keeping long fly balls and extra base hits in check.

“Looks like we might be in for a pitchers’ battle,” I surmised as Millie began taking notes on the fashion parade of fans clad in support-your-Giants style and others who seemed to have acquired their sense of fashion from the Giants’ comically clad mascot.

For her possible use in setting the scene, I pointed out the big, tipped Coca-Cola bottle and period piece infielder’s glove mounted high and behind the left-center field bleachers. Someone had chosen these as appropriate symbols of the game, despite exchanging a traditional bat for an untraditional soda bottle. I wondered why. 

“Oh, I can answer that one for you,” Millie said. “The Coke folks gave the Giants $20 million to be included in the new ballpark. The eighty-foot bottle was intended to advertise the product and also to celebrate home runs by popping its cap and releasing a burst of bubbles into the air as a celebration. It also offered a sixty-foot slide for fans who wanted a bit of fun. The bubbles never came into play and the Giants removed the slide after a number of fans were injured going down it, including a woman who won a million dollar injury settlement. The $20 million bottle has been empty ever since. 

“Looks like we’re going to have a nice crowd today,” I said as the trickle of fans became a steadily increasing flow. 

“If they can afford it,” Millie said, noting how the cost of tickets, parking, food and drink for a single game can run from $100 to $350 or more, leaving some families and working class folks dependent on television for baseball coverage.

“Not like the good old days,” I shook my head, remembering my two-dollar bleacher seat and a baseball buddy who nearly had a heart attack when Willie Mays made an impossible catch right before us. 

“Everything is too expensive nowadays, but there’s always ways to save. Bargain ticket days are one. You can take a bus here and take it easy on the snacks. Unless you’re the type who likes to blow it all at sports events.”

“I know a couple who like to blow it on chardonnay, thoroughbreds and ritzy restaurants. Just think of all they’re missing—the battle of hitters and hurlers, the stealth of base stealers, the small boats in the water beyond the stadium waiting for a souvenir homer and—“

“Can we talk about Pete Rose now?”

4.

“For starters. I’d like to know why some of the nation’s biggest big shots are crying foul over Pete’s exclusion from the Hall. They’re insisting that the all-time hit leader should be forgiven the disgrace of betting on his team and inducted into Hall of Fame nobility. What’s up with that?”

“I’m with you there, Millie. Back in –1989, was it?– Commissioner Bart Giamatti knew exactly what to do when he permanently banned Rose from the game—and The Hall. The new petition seeks to overturn that and posthumously reinstate Rose, who died last September. The idea being that you can be forgiven your wrongdoing, welcomed back like a champ and honored after your life is over. And never mind the sins committed during it.”      

“Which, to me, is like saying it doesn’t matter what you did when you were alive since you’re not around any more.” 

“If you allow that kind of thinking, it opens the door to potential election into the Hall. The 16-member Hall of Fame committee meets two years from now. Rose needs 12 votes to override his transgressions and get him in. Looks to me like he’s going to get the votes.”

“Why would they want to do that? Keeping him out serves as a reminder to future baseballers to play the game honestly and ethically, doesn’t it?”

“It helps. But there are business barons, sport execs and power politicians who want to see it happen. Maybe they’re worried about their own post-mortem reputations.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that. What does the current commissioner have to say about it?”

“Rob Manfred? He says a person no longer with us can’t represent a threat to the integrity of the game.”

“In other words, forget the past and judge a player only by his record?” 

“The threat is real if you remove the example–and the penalty. That’s what laws are for, aren’t they? How can any fan trust the integrity of the game if you say it doesn’t matter who did what once you’re gone. Shouldn’t the offense remain on the books to remind a new generation of its duty to the game—not just playing to the best of their abilities, but accepting a responsibility for keeping the game out of the hands of cheaters and preserving its integrity.” 

“A lot of laws are being flipped these days. It’s the nature of this anything-goes world of ours.”

“But if this happens, baseball–and who knows what else?–will never be the same.”   

The stadium was filling rapidly now with throngs of newcomers. Millie pocketed her pen and notebook and joined the cheering as the Giants took the field of play.

“What’s next on your to-do list?” I asked.  

“I’m trying to get an interview with Barry Bonds. I want to ask him what the example of Rose means to him and whether he prefers a Hall of Fame entry in his lifetime rather than waiting for post-mortem rehabilitation.” 

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? Why on earth would you want to do a story like that?”

“Can you imagine the difficulty of trying to interview a disgraced baseball star after he’s taken leave of life?”

5.

###