Opening Day. . .at Last!

In recognition of "Opening Day 2011," enjoy the following reflection on the importance and transcendence of the national passtime! 

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Spring is here, and Americans' thoughts turn — once again — to baseball
By Roger Rosenblatt
Parade Magazine, Sunday, March 27, 2011

When the game was over, I stood with a bunch of kids outside Yankee Stadium, waiting to get autographs. The Indians’ Bob Feller burst through the door, a losing-pitcher’s scowl on his face, and plowed through us, muttering his irritation. Offended, I reported it to my dad, who suggested I write a letter of complaint to the New York Times. I was 10, and it was 1951. I can’t recall if the Times ran my letter, or even if I mailed it. But the incident suggests what an innocent time that was, long before big money divided fans from the stars, when players were expected to sign baseballs and chat with kids in the street.

Yet even now, when a so-so reliever costs $5 million and the stadium serves quiche, baseball retains most of its innocence. Here we are, older and jaded, and still giddy as the season begins. Nothing in American life excites us this way. Of course, my “we” and “us” assume everyone loves the game, but why not? Baseball is America. It’s competitive. It’s green. And it’s such a well-made invention.
 
Read more here.

Just for fun and to remember. . .

I'm a confessed and incurable New York Yankee fan.

Grew up on the team in the 1950s and 60s when they aired every weekend on CBS-TV here in Dallas, back before we had a team of our own.

Mantle was my favorite.

Nothing much better than a Yankees-Dodgers World Series.

Just remembering those good days for baseball and for a kid growing up dreaming of swinging for the fence!

An artist, a little boy and enduring community

It's a long story.

And, it means so much to me.

The story begins with Wyatt Toombs, my 5-year-old grandson.

Wyatt loves sports, all sports. On every team Wyatt wears the number 7.

Rewind to 1956 and forward. Mickey Mantle is my number one favorite baseball player and basic, all-round hero. I remember pulling for the Mick against Roger Maris in 1961 when Maris set the home run record. Both players were New York Yankees. I grew up on baseball in the vacant lot beside my house. I grew up on Yankee baseball on the radio and on television.

Naturally, I tell Wyatt that Mantle wore the number 7, too. Wyatt doesn't know who Mantle is, but the connection to the shared number really gets his attention and we enter one of those wonderful "tell me more, grandad" moments!

Now, to the image here.

Rick Timmons, an artist and a friend, painted this amazing oil portrait of Mantle. Rick's brother, Tim, also one of my dear friends, saw a post here of Wyatt playing soccer on a YouTube cut I posted back in April. Knowing my love for Wyatt and my appreciation for Mantle, Tim suggests that Rick give the painting to Wyatt.

The painting comes with its own story. It was painted almost a decade ago. Rick decided that Tim's idea makes more sense than any other he has encountered when it comes to this particular piece. So, now the portrait belongs to Wyatt!

Number 7. So much more to say. But, I'll let it go for now.

Thanks, Rick and Tim.

I love you, Wyatt.

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