Watching a baseball game – or any sports for that matter – is not only about enjoyment and entertainment. It is also about learning life lessons in a baseball diamond while the game thrillingly unfolds amidst a deafening crowd. And there are important teachings I discerned from the first Yankees game I watched.
It so happened that we watched the ballgame on Jackie Robinson Day, the legendary player on whose extraordinary achievements in and out of the realm of baseball, the eponymous day is celebrated. To honor his life and legacy, baseball players from all across America wear the number 42 jersey during their matches every April 15.
As the first black American athlete to play major league baseball, Jackie is immortalized as a great equalizer who, ironically, 76 years earlier, was set apart, almost forbidden to play baseball because of his color. About 10 years ago our family watched the inspirational “42,” a biographical film chronicling Jackie’s life, how he defied racism and the obstacles that went with it to become one of the greatest baseball players in sports history.
Some of the defining moments in that movie were when Jackie confronted his oppressors with quiet dignity, absorbing racial slurs hurled upon him with calm and compassion. I now think of how Jackie Robinson dashed the noblest home run far beyond the baseball field to teach humanity great and lasting lessons in forbearance, perseverance and goodwill.
From the players to the spectators, a baseball game is a wonderful celebration of diversity. The old high-fiving with the young, Asians, Blacks, Latinos, Whites, families, couples or groups mingling with each other garbed in a Yankee shirt, jersey or cap. I felt sorry for the fans of the visiting Minnesota Twins, their red attires eclipsed by blue and white. Yet they nevertheless reveled in the moment, just as their athletes vied with refined sportsmanship.
Out in the field, all players wore monochromatic uniforms bearing the number 42. At the turn of every batter passionately slugging it out to hit a home run, thunderous applause instantly echoed from the rafters. By their faces and last names flashed on the giant screen, one can easily surmise that a good number of players are offspring of immigrants. The sound of their names and sight of their faces reminded me of a recent in-depth report I read about how a multitude of migrants had faced danger and still risk their lives taking a five-day dangerous trek through the South American wild in their quest for the American dream. Could their forebears be one of them?
Regardless of the circumstances, they are now heroes in their own right because when I looked around the benches, fans wore jerseys of their favorite players with surnames such as Judge, Torres, Cordero, Miranda, Solano, Rizzo, Volpe, et. al. I’d like to think that when we hail heroes, we help instill courage and fortitude among the young and not so young ones as well.
The hubby, whose enthusiasm in sports and anything about the Olympics has rubbed off on our children and me, wore a Jeter shirt. Derek Jeter, he said, is a five-time world series champion and a father of three, who in an article once declared, “I don’t wanna take anything for granted and I live life to the fullest everyday.”
One of his colleagues and I sported Ruth, in honor of another baseball hero, Babe Ruth, whose inspirational bio-film I also watched years ago. The other colleague wore a Volpe, so we asked, Volpe who? With help from Google we found out that Anthony Volpe is a 21-year-old rookie with a Filipino mother and an Italian father, both doctors and Yankees fans. As a child, Anthony had always dreamed of becoming a Yankee player, which he realized by sheer hard work, determination and support from his parents.
That was a moment when all four of us took pride in a young and promising compatriot! Our spirits even higher, we would join the thunderous applause at Volpe’s turns to bat a ball to score or catch one to outscore the opponent.
An intense sense of patriotism was undeniably evident since the very start of the game, with the singing of The Star-Spangled Banner and happenings in between. At the end of the seventh inning, the event was focused on honoring the men and women who served in the war.
The sky was overcast that afternoon, yet when I scanned the audience not one soul was a bit worried of a possible drizzle. In between innings families danced, couples kissed, children screamed, while the sober and the semi-drunk rooted or chatted. Birthday or anniversary greetings and a marriage proposal were flashed onscreen. Those caught on camera cheered at the sight of their faces on the massive monitor. Songs of the 80’s were played before the start of the eighth inning and as the pulsating tune of YMCA boomed, a lot got on their feet to dance with the beat.
It was all fun and relaxing, my happy hormones were on the loose. To have fun. I thought of how we sometimes forget to have one when caught in the busyness or humdrum of life. That afternoon at the games, in between munches of popcorn, bites of hotdog and gulps of soda, I knew I just had a genuine one.