An absolutely amazing, never-to-be-believed miracle happened this week in Marietta, Georgia. A throng of 46,000 or so Americans got together and cheered, applauded, and stamped their collective feet for the same cause. There was no name-calling, no questioning of parentage, no disgustingly vile and descriptive words shouted at one another. Supporters of a recently sworn-in Supreme Court Justice mingled happily with those that wretched at the mere mention of his name. MAGA hats were replaced with a sea of blue and red together on people’s heads. And the biggest debate was whether it’s better to put mustard or ketchup on a hot dog.

What in the world caused all this camaraderie and societal cohesiveness? Well, the Atlanta Braves were in the baseball play-offs for the first time in five years. And fans of all ilk were celebrating. Rich, not-so-rich, all skin colors, male, female, supporters of the President, haters of same, arch-conservatives, far-left liberals, straight, gay, and all the other identifying letters were united.

The symbol of unity was a foam-rubber tomahawk. Almost everyone in the stands had one and made frequent use of it. (Okay, okay, there were a few Dodger fans scattered throughout the mix. But nobody demanded an FBI investigation.) When the chanting and chopping began, no political stripes were in view, and even those few hapless souls without a shred of rhythmic ability weren’t chastised, even though they were clearly out of the mainstream.

Since no fisticuffs were reported to the local constabulary, it’s probably safe to assume most of the conversations with fellow seatmates revolved around umpires obviously unfamiliar with the strike zone and the wisdom (or lack thereof) of starting a rookie pitcher when a perfectly good veteran was available. In all probability, no one thought SunTrust Park was the appropriate venue to vent frustration or gloat with satisfaction regarding recent national events.

Similar scenes were played out in Colorado, Houston, Boston, Milwaukee, New York, Cleveland, and Los Angeles during the post-season this year. (Heck, had the Nationals played up to expectations, peaceful coexistence might even have broken out in Washington, D.C., although that is a bit of pipe-dreaming.)

Yes, there were numerous football games played this past week as well. But college partisans and maybe even moreso professional ones tend to be a little bit more vociferous in their feelings and intolerable of those opposed to their chosen gridiron heroes. That’s on the whole. There are a few Yankee fans who would just as soon all Red Sox devotees were boiled in oil, and vice versa, and rabid Giant/Dodger rivalries can go back 60+ years to the days when both teams played in New York.

The relatively staid pace of baseball has been questioned of late. Some, who really don’t relish the strategy that’s always in motion, can find it to be far too slow, with not enough action. They are wrong, of course, but that opinion might precipitate an argument, and this column is all about the absence of turmoil, so we’ll leave it at that.

Tradition plays a huge role in the enjoyment of the game. Batting practice before each game. Chalking the batter’s box. Delivering the line-up cards to the umpires at home plate. Often a ceremonial first pitch is thrown. Hot dogs never taste better than at a ballpark. Beer is always colder. Peanut shells are properly disposed of by tossing them on the ground in front of your seat. The call of “Play Ball.” And one of the greatest unifiers of all at every game is the 7thinning stretch. It matters not for whom you are rooting; everyone in attendance rises to lustily, if sometimes clumsily and not too tunefully, warble Take Me Out To The Ballgame. No judgment.

Perhaps the point to be made here is that We the People can actually get along with each other without rancor and constant divisiveness. Now, if Brett Kavanaugh had taken the mound to throw out that first pitch, things may have turned ugly rather quickly. But, he wasn’t spotted anywhere near a ballpark. One of the greatest scenes in the aftermath of the 9/11 tragedy was watching George W. Bush stride purposefully and confidently out to the middle of the infield at Yankee Stadium in an FDNY jacket, and fire a perfect strike to the catcher. The chants of “USA, USA, USA” filled the air, and there was probably not a dry eye in the place.

Thank goodness for the great American pastime. We need it now more than ever.

 

©MMXVIII. William J. Lewis, III