Ramblings of a Technology Addict

Tuesday, March 11, 2003

One Opinion I can't let lie...

The past few days I've been trying to blog about the impending action in Iraq less, and baseball and technology a little more, but an article has piqued my interest and I have to write about. Rod Dreher of the NRO wrote a piece defending French Culture, but not French Politics. We can differentiate between leadership and country, much like we can in Iraq. We're mad at Saddam Hussein, not at the average Iraqi. Yes, he was "elected" but let's not start that mess. We're angry with the government of Jacques Chirac, Dominique de Villepin and others who are preventing the liberation of Iraq. We're not mad at the farmer in the Bordeaux who's growing grapes for wine. We're not mad at the baker in that Paris ghetto.
Am I arguing for regime change in Paris? Kinda Sorta. It's not quite like that in France, they democratically elect their representative government. But I don't think ridiculing the French and their culture will endear us to them at all. If anything, such behavior will, in the long term, make Chirac more popular.
4:48:52 PM comment []

And So It Begins.

Every year, I have a tradition that I follow without fail. Just about this time, as winter is looking to dampen our spirits one last time (and as I write this, it's snowing), I pick up the one book that always makes me feel like it's Spring. Shoeless Joe. It begins...
My father said he saw him play years later, in a textile town in Carolina, wearing shoes and an assumed name.
And everyone who ever saw that movie with Kevin Costner knows the voice...If you build it, he will come. And as I sit here in my office, overcome by emotion, love for the game, love for my father, love for the way Kinsella writes not about people, not about the game, but about that mythos, that mixture of humanity and the legend-ness of the Gods of the Game, the same mythos that is constructed by Michael Chabon in Summerland and explored also in Kinsella's other magnum opus about Baseball, The Iowa Baseball Confederacy.
Much of what baseball has become to America is mythology, full of hero and villain, full of mysticism and quasi-religious tones. There are those the eat, sleep and breathe baseball, who like a preacher could suddenly have the statistics of an unknown backup third basemen on their tip of their tongue like scripture. Me, I don't quite fall in that same range. I'm more the preacher who focuses on the ideals of the game. That beautiful small game that Oakland plays, that my father calls "being nibbled to death by ducks," full of little hits, and walks and fielders' choice. The true game of baseball depends not on power, not on home runs, but on getting a hit, 3 or 4 times out of 10.
Baseball's a lot like life. You win some, you lose some. Nobody loses every time. Even the best players succeed only 35% of the time. And the best part of it all, every day is a new game. Nine fresh innings, 144 fresh white baseballs, stamped with the league's moniker. Nine pillow bases, bleached whiter than white. Chalk lines running out into infinity, dividing good from bad, but with much room in between them.
So every year, I pick up Kinsella and read about the goodness of the game. How it's important. How it's special and unlike any other game. Football is epic, but in the end short and worthless (Sorry Mike). Hockey is lightning speed, but also thuggery on ice (sorry Robert). Basketball is athletic, but has become more showy than a sport need be, it's about the star, not the team (Sorry Sports Guy).
Two Weeks.
And next time my Dad's out here, we need to go play catch.
10:55:51 AM comment []