What does baseball have to do with writing?

As a young woman in the 50s growing up in Canada, I was intrigued by hockey and football. Baseball didn’t exist for me then. It hadn’t entered Canadian consciousness, and it would take some years before it did. I didn’t feel deprived. Hockey and football had much to offer at that time, including handsome, vigorous guys.

It wasn’t until the 2010 playoffs that I became an SF Giants fan.  I had watched baseball periodically over the years during the World Series, but I never followed a particular team, except the Yankees, my husband’s favorite club (he’s a former New Yorker). But something about the Giants’ ragtag collection of players, some almost over the hill, captured my interest and kept me engaged into the 2011 season. In the process, I’ve been learning what it means to become a fan, and I’m not sure that I qualify. I’ve also been discovering the world of baseball, and I can understand why so many people are drawn to the game: hope.  That’s the key word.

I find myself returning again and again to watching my team even when they aren’t winning or hitting because I hope that something will happen: they’ll have a hitting streak. The pitching will get so hot the opposing team can’t touch it. The Giants will prevail! Hope is the driving force.

But, no, I’m not interested in seeing the Giants play again in person at Oracle Park. The one time I did go there, I hated the noise and all the distractions from the actual ball game. The “fans” seemed more interested in gabbing with one another as well as eating, and drinking than actually watching what was happening on the field. I missed viewing the action up close on our wide-screen TV. And I also hated not hearing the excellent commentary that often accompanies TV coverage.

Of course, I also regularly check the Giants’ website, keeping updated on recent trades and transactions. Following the players’ records.  Generally being informed.

But it’s difficult to keep up this intensity when my favorite team doesn’t have a chance at the playoffs, as happened yet again this year.  Okay, I know, I should be more expansive, more interested in the intricacies of the plays and the club’s future. But I’m not. I can applaud wonderful pitching. I can lust over effortless-appearing home runs. And I can get excited about a well-executed double play. Yet the other refinements don’t interest me. I just want hits and runs. Period. Apparently the Giants’ management seeks the same thing.

How much of this is a reflection on the game as America’s pastime? How much does baseball capture the American psyche? It’s difficult to generalize.  Hope isn’t only an American attitude. Most people cling to it, wishing for the best, desiring what can’t be easily attained. Yet hope does seem to be particularly American when partnered with the American Dream. They are long-time lovers, holding hands, clinging to each other. Hope keeps generation after generation striving to attain more than the previous one. So do we as fans, and the baseball players as well, aim for what can’t yet be grasped, that elusive thing waiting around the corner.

And so do we writers. Without hope, we would have no hope of writing every day in the midst of frequent rejections. Like the home run, our hopeful dreams periodically get satisfied enough that we can continue to produce, even without publication. And occasionally, our home runs add up to getting our longer works released into the world. I guess we could call it a Grand Slam!

Dear readers. Keep writing and hoping.