The national pastime

The purpose of my trip wasn't to see baseball games, but the availability of so many along my travels was a nice benefit. Here I was today in Fort Wayne, Indiana attending my fifth ballgame--four minor league contests, one Major League showdown--during this vacation. I imagine if the Northwest Arkansas Naturals had been home when I was in Fayetteville, I could have attended a game at every stop, although I suspect my hosts may have needed some persuading.

The home TinCaps, formerly the Wizards until this year's Johnny Appleseed-themed name change, played my hapless Reds' single A affiliate Dayton Dragons at a new downtown ballpark. Beautiful place, standing room only crowd, warm but generally comfortable day (at least sitting in the shade as we were).

The funny thing about all these games is that I really only cared about the outcome of one--the Reds/Cardinals match-up--and even that win wasn't something I was hugely invested in. (The team has taken a dive and, while mathematically in the race, is hopelessly finished this season.) Ultimately, going to these games was about seeing different spots, soaking up the atmosphere, and, when applicable, enjoying spending time with those in my company.

Spurred on by hearing the "day-o" part from "The Banana Boat Song" played at a couple ballparks and not having the slightest inkling why, I have finally learned (from the Wikipedia page) that it's intended to encourage a late rally by the home team. Through repetition I think the meaning may have been lost, at least in South Bend, where I'm sure I heard it over the PA system in the first inning. I'd heard this at games before, but now I know why it is commonly deployed.

Baseball's businessmen and the game's fans cling to its reputation as the national pastime, although it's certainly debatable that football--either professional or collegiate, if not both--has assumed that title. I like football, but to me baseball is the sport more attuned to daily living, not the least of which is because it follows the day in, day out working rhythms.

Like life, success in the game is not determined in an instant but over the long haul. Individually or collectively, a bad day on the diamond is not disastrous. Winning 56% of the regular season games often qualifies as a good season. Winning 62% of the time is a great year.

A hitter having a phenomenal year succeeds 40% of the time. A productive season at the plate is getting a hit 3 out of 10 times. No matter how good you are in baseball, you're going to fail and lose a lot. The successful players learn from these setbacks and figure out how to move on from them.

Watching baseball allows time for reflection, rejoicing in singular achievements in the course of the game no matter the outcome in the large picture, and going with the flow unrestricted by time. Any of this sound applicable elsewhere?