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Bring baseball back to the Bleachers

The baseball block is back.  It’s not that there isn’t a wealth of issues to discuss right now. My baseball block isn’t from not watching games. I have been at a game, and been able to watch quite a few, as it’s my vacation week. My baseball block is from fear of what I may write.

I was at the game on Tuesday and left the game early. Many fans left early on Tuesday. Although some newbies, were encouraged to stay to see the Sweet Caroline debacle. Not because anything is possible in a game without a time limit. But because watching drunk people sing Sweet Caroline is just so awesome. I don’t leave games early, and shockingly, it has nothing to do with songs or traditions. I don’t leave early, because there is always a glimmer of hope. If the fans can dream it, it can happen.

But on Tuesday the fans weren’t dreaming.

I was learning to use a scorecard for the first time. A nice Italian couple was watching baseball for the first time. I got beer spilled on me for the millionth time, but for the first time I got angry.

The men behind me at the game, proudly told the Italian couple, they were the ‘bleachas’. Their accents were as fake as their knowledge of the sport. But because they were drunk and offensive, they somehow felt they were the ‘bleachas’.

Usually in the bleachers, you do get beer spilt on. You do hear profanity. These are things I don’t mind. Because when beer is spilt, it results in an apology, and in rare instances even a free beer the next inning. And the profanity, it’s all about baseball, and mild compared to my own hockey mouth. Racist remarks aren’t usually made about Latinos right after Tiant waves to the crowd. But this is how the ‘bleachas’ or khaki entourage rolled.

The Italian man, who asked all the right questions about the game of baseball in the first inning, began recording the khaki clan.

His girlfriend asked, “Why is no one cheering? In futbol, we cheer. We cheer the whole game. But here, nothing. No, let’s go Red Sox. Why is this?”

She was right. Not that there was a whole lot to cheer for, but as there always is in such a long game, there were a few moments that deserved cheering.

Atchison had a good inning. The crowd was unmoved.

Tiant waved to us. The crowd was unmoved.

A beach ball was thrown in our section. The crowd moved.

Melancon, with an already high ERA throw out a pitch that resulted in a homer. The crowd was moved. The crowd was so moved, they stood up and cheered as they watched his ERA get higher on the screen. Another homer, the crowd moved even more. Now, they stood. ‘Fans’ were finally on their feet. Some were even cheering now. They were chanting “50” in hopes of another homer. In hopes to see even bigger failure out of their own team.

We have spent months complaining about the Red Sox. Their behaviors from last season. How could they? In this city we breathe baseball. So how could men who get paid the big bucks stomp on our baseball hearts like that? How can our new manager complain to the press about one of his very own?

And for a while, our complaints were justified. Some fans still are weary to return to the park. But if you are a true fan, we need you more than ever. We need to take back the bleachers. We need to be fans in the park that know baseball, who aren’t just there because it’s been 100 years, or there was a good deal. We need fans that spill beers because they jump when a double play is made, not because they are fighting about how to pronounce Medford.

We need fans that know one hundred years isn’t just about the Park. It’s about the legends that found ways into our hearts and our history. We need fans who even in a bad game, know who Tiant is, and they stand.

Fans who don’t do the wave, even when the game is bleak, because some people a row ahead are trying to do a scorecard.

Fans who aren’t just ‘fanatical’. They love baseball. Even if they aren’t loving the game, they love the promise of games to come. And for those reasons they encourage success rather than failure.

So if you love baseball like I do, let’s bring baseball back to the bleachers. Because in one hundred years, baseball was never as embarrassing as it was Tuesday night. Put away your khakis and get your jerseys on, and let’s take back the bleachers!

 

The Kid saves baseball

Yesterday, my students took a mock MCAS. I sat with students and watched them work meticulously from 8:40-12:15. On these days, we often spare our students from homework. these days also aren’t our favorite days, and we get it.

After finishing the test, one of my students, asked me what the homework was going to be. I told him I was giving them the night off.

“But Ms. Kimpel, can I do some work on baseball averages tonight?” he pleaded.

“I don’t have anything ready, but if you don’t mind it hand written, I can give you something.” I told him and dug my media guide out from my purse.  I wrote down a few batting averages on some ripped paper from my notebook.

This morning right after unpacking his bag, the student took out the piece of paper ripped from my notebook with the averages, and then took out a piece of lined paper, perfectly labeled with the batting averages in order.

“Did I do it right?” And mostly, he had.

“Almost. You just need to move Gonzalez. Can you show me where?”

“Oh! On top. Can I have some more for tonight?” he asked.

“Well, I do want you to review the new skill from today.”

“I’ll do that too. But my Dad and I want more batting averages and stuff to put in order. Can I have some?”

I handed him a whole media guide.

“If you look in the last page for each player, that’s where the averages are. For pitchers, though, you want to find the lowest ERAs, so order those from least to greatest.“

“I promise to bring it back tomorrow!” he said, as serious as a ten-year old can.

This morning I was also greeted with a picture on my desk. It was a picture of a baseball, the baseball looked like the world. And on top of the world, there was a bear, who looked like he had just conquered this baseball world.  The caption read “The Teacher Who Saved Baseball.” Maybe the bear was me.

No Red Sox salary can match how I feel today. Driving home, listening to sports radio slander the Red Sox, I still smiled. Because as miserable as the Red Sox play, my students save baseball. Instead of visualizing a Sox defeat, I see my student and his father, practicing math with a media guide. Instead of reading the misery of a Shaughnessy article, I get to read the poem a student wrote using one ‘money’ word from the same article.

When I saw Sharon Robinson speak, the issue of no baseball came up. The often asked question arose: how can we get baseball back in urban communities? Maybe all we need to do, is not push it out. Just allow them some time, because, it’s the kids who will save baseball.

 

 

Getting over Baseball Block

I need to write about baseball. But I haven’t been breathing baseball.  Been teaching Casey at Bat. Been getting lost in sports pages’ as we search for money words for the writing project. Maybe it’s just the baseball I was breathing had no words. Or none I could use in class. Maybe it was getting lost in Kadir Nelson’s paintings last Sunday. Got so lost in the paintings, thought for a second I was there. Thought I could hear Paige dispensing some wisdom as he waited for Gibson. Maybe it was listening to Sharon Robinson talk about her father breaking the color barrier, and having enough time to still check at home for broken ice on the lake. Maybe all that, chicken and beer silenced my baseball being.  So like Paige, I won’t rush, the game won’t start without me.

Like most days it was a nine-inning sort of day. 

1. Getting out of bed felt like watching Verlander arrive on the mound, suddenly I felt wildly unprepared for the day.
2. Not even nine, and already a student mocked me. Like Valentine mocking our city with his New York talk. But I didn’t have sports radio on my side to call in. So I just called the kids mom.
3. The treat of delivered Dunkin Donuts was the fresh start of a .000 ERA.
4. The iced tea almost being split over my laptop by a student was Price Fielder at bat.
5. Realizing I had a meeting during my prep period was Ortiz striking out in the sixth.
6. Running across the street for a coke, sausage, and the first pitch before the meeting, well, that was before the mighty Ortiz struck out.
7. Trying to explain a radio to my students, that was the five-second TV time delay of the game.
8. Having students crowded around my computer at dismissal, silently but excitedly watching the gamecast with me, all frustrations of the day forgiven, was Sweeney’s late triple.
9. Running across the street right after work only to see the collapse of Mudville, was the absence of Bard’s 100MPH pitch.

Luckily, it’s a long season. And we don’t need to rush, not just yet.