The following was submitted to us by Sandra Airey.
Baseball can teach you an awful lot about life. The old adage is that the game isn't over till the last man is out and the fat lady sings. This reflected perfectly to me the Catholic belief; you haven't lost the game until you draw your last breath and refuse to accept the Salvation won for you by Christ.
My teen years were filled with the excitement of watching the Detroit Tigers. Tension grew whenever the hated Cleveland Indians came to town. Jimmy Piersall started it. He hated Detroit and Detroit returned the favor. The Yankees never seemed to make it personal and besides there was something you could admire about them.
When things weren't going well and it looked like the home team was going to lose it all; when fans got that queasy feeling in the pit of their stomach, and smiles began fading, you could see some of the fans leaving the stadium early to beat the traffic home. The real fans would stick it out. Occasionally we were rewarded with one of the most exciting things that can happen in baseball, a beautifully executed double-play!
As I watched the first debate between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, I could not help but wish that Donald Trump knew less about golf and more about baseball.
Here's the scenario: it's the top of the ninth and the Indians have tied it up, there's a man on first and the batter hits a line drive. It's headed for the outfield. The shortstop jumps up, snags the ball deflecting its trajectory, cutting it off at the knees. One Indian down.( Think of this as the Media) Then he pivots sending the ball to second base getting the runner out. (Think of this as Hillary ) When the pivot is done well it can be as beautiful as the pirouette of any ballerina.
Lucky, lucky me! Here I am in bed with a fever of a hundred and two; pondering if the number of elderly who die from the flu is exponentially increased if they have a jaw abscess at the same time.
I took the hydrocodone the dentist guaranteed would help me get some sleep. The radio is on. The host is discussing Donald Trump's performance at the 1st. Presidential Debate. “Oh no, not that! Not now!” I can't reach the radio to turn it off. So I bury my head deeper into the pillows. Thoughts of the debate flood my mind. The pulsing pain in my jaw becomes a relentless throb. I take another hydrocodone from the nightstand. Surely the doctor said, “Take 2 to sleep” or was it “Take to sleep?”
I thrash from one side of the bed to the other. I can see and hear Trump clearly now. He goes on and on insisting he was never for the war in Iraq; instead of throwing the ball back at Hillary and telling everyone how she actually voted for the war!
Then over and over about how he could not release his tax records; instead of pivoting and bringing up the Clinton Foundation slush fund, the selling out of our nation to the highest bidder. After all Hillary is the biggest criminal in the history of the world.
Then I heard Trump's voice. He was speaking on the radio explaining he didn't mention Hillary's abuse of women because he didn't want to “hurt Chelsea's feelings.” That's when “It” happened!
You might say we had our 1st. argument and I started “ It”.
“ You know why my friend Farah said she would never vote for you now?” Trump stammered, “Because Lester didn't….” I never even let him finish. I jumped in, “Because she never learned anything bad about Hillary from you! That's your job! Not Lester’s!”
Then I threw my shoulders back and put my chin high and with the self-righteousness of a woman scorned said,” How dare you worry about Chelsea's feelings? She's a multi- millionaire heiress. She'll buy a yacht or a diamond tiara and get over it! You need to worry about people like my husband and myself and all the other little people who need you besides you promised.” My voice started out shrill but the last word was almost inaudible.
I turned quickly away. I didn't want him to see I was about to cry. He sat down in a chair and seemed to sulk like a man does when he's heard something he really didn't want to hear. He was surprised when I tossed a baseball glove into his lap. “What's this?” he said. “ C'mon. We're going to play some baseball. After all you weren't born knowing how to play golf. Someone along the way gave you some pointers.” He looked away and then a soft smile appeared on his face as if he were remembering something in the past that was very dear to him. He jumped up, “Alright, let's go!”
As we walked out the front door headed for the empty lot at the end of the street, I knew that everything between us was going to be alright. I could tell by the way he listened as I talked about baseball and the greatest World Series I ever saw; when the Marlins beat the Cleveland Indians in 1997.
When we got to the empty lot, neighbors and friends began to gather. Soon there was a crowd, after all no one can draw a crowd like “The Donald.”
Everyone wanted to help. Rudy Giuliani was the umpire. Mike Pence stood in as pitcher. Why even Ted Cruz offered to hit the line drives. Chris Christie put on a red pants suit and a blonde wig so he could look like Hillary trying to get from first to second base. Diamond and Silk went up and down leading everyone in a cheer,” Donald, Donald, he's our man. He can do it, we know he can!”
We practiced a few times. It wasn't long before he snatched a line drive, stopping it before it could do any damage. Then pivoting, to everyone's delight, he threw the ball right at second base. Christie, caught off guard, lost his balance and literally fell on top of second base. But not before Sheriff Clarke got ahold of the ball and yelled,”Hillary, you're outta here!”
The crowd burst into cheers. Everyone ran up to congratulate him.Me? I was beaming from ear-to-ear because I knew that Donald had learned one of the biggest secrets from the great American Game of Baseball. NOBODY BUT NOBODY HAS LOST AND NOBODY BUT NOBODY HAS WON, UNTIL IT’S OVER!
And it's not over till the last man is out and the fat lady.... fat lady....zzzzzZZZZZ.
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