Baseball truly is the greatest sport in the world. Not only is it America’s pastime, but it’s ingrained into the very fabric of our lives, which I credit to the game’s daily presence for more than six months of the year.
The best part of the baseball season is that each day present a new opportunity. It’s the chance to keep a hot streak going, or to put a rough previous day behind you and look forward to the promise of a brand-new day, a clean slate. Baseball requires patience, determination, and an ability to look at the big picture while appreciating and soaking in the minutiae of every moment.
Baseball is the best metaphor for life, which in my own life at the moment, does unfortunately include my ex-wife taking the kids from me.
I’m on a bit of a losing streak, no doubt. You might say I blew the game in the bottom of the ninth inning when I wasn’t around as much this past year because I was golfing with my friends, or in a bowling league with my buddies, or on that week-long resort trip with my fantasy football league. But that’s my team, you know? And just like in baseball, you have to be there for your team, each and every day.
But today’s a new day, a new game, and I’m ready to put a couple bad losses behind me, which does include pretty aggressive child support payments and an additional 60% of my income going to alimony, even though I pleaded with the judge to reduce that because I have to support my second family as well. But I liken the judge to an umpire who just didn’t want to hear me argue the strike zone from the dugout that day, and promptly tossed me.
Every time I watch a player steal a base – which has increased exponentially thanks to the game’s exciting new set of rules – I can’t help but be reminded of how my ex-wife Linda manipulated the family court into painting me as an absent father, ultimately stealing my children right out from under me, as if I was a pitcher with a high leg kick as part of my drawn-out delivery.
Despite all these setbacks – like an 0-for-20 stretch at the plate – I know there’s a home run lurking for me soon. I picked up a second job, and I found a great spot on my old street that provides the perfect angle for watching my family with binoculars without being seen.
I’ve also been watching the games in my one-bedroom apartment on a brand-new TV that is currently balanced on two milk crates as I look for some sort of stand, or maybe something to put on the bare walls. But my chair, which doubles as a chair you can take to the beach or an outdoor concert, can be folded up and it includes a cup holder, so you tell me who’s having a worse start in this new phase of life.
Let’s call that one win on the way to a robust winning streak. Hell, let’s say I’ve ripped off two wins in a row because my landlord promised not to raise my rent until the fall on account of the cockroaches that came pouring of my bathroom sink.
Yes, baseball is the greatest metaphor for this marathon season we call life, and just like the start of any baseball season, I’m standing at the precipice of my own Opening Day, with hope and optimism for what’s to come, which might just include my kids (from either family I started) talking to me again.
