Tears formed in my eyes on Sunday. It wasn’t during the morning or the evening worship services. It was during the afternoon. The last day of the Major League Baseball regular season. I watched the Brewers on television, and they won. The Mets were losing. If they lost, the Brewers would be in the playoffs for the first time since 1982, when I saw them play the Cardinals in the World Series at County Stadium. When the final out was recorded, and the Mets had lost, my eyes turned moist. The Brewers made it to the playoffs. But it wasn’t just the relief and excitement of the victory. There was something more.
I reflected on Michael Novak’s musing in The Joy of Sports: “How could I be forty years old and still care what happens to the Dodgers?” I’m forty-five, and my eyes filled with tears when the Brewers won the wild card and a place in the playoffs. Is it time to put away childish things? No, because the game made a deep connection, sounding the depth of my being.
My Dad and I loved the Brewers. During the last days I got to spend with my Dad, we watched some of the Brewers games on TV, and we moaned and grumbled because they kept losing, and we figured they’d find a way to be on the outside of the playoffs, looking in… again.
But they did it. It wasn’t pretty, but they are in the playoffs. For that moment, as the excitement of the game brought a smile to my face, I felt in my belly a joy shared with Dad. He wasn’t here to see it, but still, I somehow was enjoying it with him. And with Tyler. My son. Another Brewers fan. Another generation.
No wonder my eyes were filled with tears.
1 comment:
You've expressed beautifully what baseball, and sports in general, can mean to us. I truly believe sport can, in a good sense be so much more than "just a game." Thanks for your post!
Unfortunately, the Brewers (like my Cubs) are having some trouble!
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