"Two Men on Base"

“They'll score quicker, I remarked. There are two men on base.” And then it happened. The raucous sounds of laughter rang through the air as my dear mother-in-law, in her 80's and her three young grandsons, reacted to my words of total nonsense. “What was so funny?” I asked. “There should not be two men on base”, she tried to tell me, through her laughter. “The other guy is the third base coach!” “Oh.” And so the story goes.

I was genuine in my belief; my dear mother-in-law, in her disbelief! Since that moment many years ago, I have learned much about the sport of sports, the thinking man's game. Baseball was never a part of my childhood. As a youngster, I began to fall in love with classical music, then square dancing by grade 8. By high school, volleyball and intramural basketball assumed mythical proportions. Music and song were still great loves as I joined the high school choir and participated in many high school musical productions throughout those busy academic years. My grade 9 homeroom gym class won the title of the best in basketball, the sport of very tall people, -(Momsey is short) - in a competition with other grade 9 gym classes. I never forgot the prestigious honour. As time passed, however, the indoor/outdoor games of my childhood, faded into the background, until decades later, when 3 little boys entered our lives and began to show us the supreme power and importance of all sports in early childhood and life. Baseball, in its infancy, here in Canada, took the lead!

Running, catching, jumping, falling are normal outcomes in the day of a child. Baseball was natural fit for them. Without special equipment or uniforms, baseball is a formative game about communication, on and off the field. (Being a runner or a gymnast helps in its execution.) When the hitting is poor, defense is the number one strategy in preventing the opposing team from increasing their score. A strong offense and good defense aids the pitcher. Being aware of the 'nuances', on the field, can spell the difference between a win or loss, Momsey now knows. Baseball is about planning, organizing, sociology, practice, strategizing, talent and skill and understanding 'codes' between pitcher and catcher. It is eye contact of the highest order. It is a whole brain workout for mind and body, a perfect fit for all.

Baseball has the power to unite, excite, and connect us all. It is an emotional outlet during times of great stress. For a brief moment, our troubles are forgotten, as we watch and hope for our team's win. We're energized when the starting pitcher shuts down the opposition. Why does the pitcher always get blamed when the team loses? If no one is hitting then what should we expect? When the ball is hit by the opposition, we hope our team's defense will minimize its 'collateral damage'. Baseball is a thinking man's game. ...

Our Toronto Blue Jays were born in 1977. It is now Canada's team. Baseball became a social outlet, for us, during the long, hot days of summer, decades ago. Winning or losing, 'our' team drew us into their world. We belonged to them. When they lost, we suffered, too. Supporting the Blue Jays in their quest to win the coveted World Series title, made us all work a little harder to make time for that special bonding interlude, in our day. Team support was important. We kept watching and hoping. We embraced it all. Our boys boys and their dad understood the game. It was in their DNA, it seemed. Their grandmother had taught them well, in her unique teaching style. Momsey was a newcomer to baseball but excited, nonetheless, wanting to learn and understand the game the whole world knew and loved.

Once upon a time, tickets to the former Exhibition Stadium, in Toronto, Ontario, Canada were $2 for simple bleacher seats. Our youngest of three was a one-year-old then, sitting on my lap till the 2^nd or 3^rd inning arrived. By then it was time to go. Having walked for several hours prior to the start of the game during the hot summer's day at the CNE, our little boys did well to keep up the pace. With a paid admission to the fairgrounds, admission to the game was free. Each year we stayed a little bit longer. The boys were getting older. They were quickly becoming fans of this exciting, engaging game. Remaining till the 9^th inning was now possible. 

 

Baseball was showing its true intent, becoming a unifying force that brought us all together, under the searing heat of the summer sun to watch, scream, smile and vocalize. Momsey soon began to realize the power of baseball on the human condition. It was a driving force, a reason to be, a mood changer, therapy, a relaxant, a soother, the calm before the storm, the icing on the cake of life and an excuse to eat hotdogs, beer and soda pop.

A base hit, grand slam, home run, bunt or walk were foreign terms to me. Not now. I ask the questions. Baseball's messages become clearer. Listening to the words of the television's broadcasters, Buck Martinez and Pat Tabler, narrating the game, play-by-play, helps Momsey love the game that connects us all in a warm show of solidarity. The players are family, for a brief moment in time. ... Back in the day, names like Jose Guzman, Dave Stieb, George Bell and Joe Carter were familiar Blue Jay's players. Now they are a part of its illustrious history. Today, Jose Bautista, Josh Donaldson, Marcus Stroman, Kevin Pillar and Ezequiel Carrera, to name a few, dominate the Blue Jays' baseball roster, now a family tradition, igniting the passion and excitement of a game Momsey adores. When I miss a 'winning' game, I watch Blue Jays in 30, a summary of the highlights in a quick 30-minute block. 

I do not fully understand baseball's rules and plays but simply listening to the descriptive and exacting words of the television sports commentators, Jamie Campbell, the host and Gregg Zaun, the analyst, during the games' intermissions, helps make Momsey a little bit smarter, each and every time. Occasionally, they play 'show and tell' to help illustrate baseball's moments, in real time, on the studio floor. I appreciate their efforts. But what exactly is a sacrifice fly?

The Gorilla and The Little Boy

The death of Harambe, the western lowland gorilla at the Cincinnati zoo, has resonated around the world. After a three-year-old boy fell into its compound, Harambe was shot, fearing tranquilizing the animal might provoke a sudden violent reaction towards the toddler before sedation took effect. I was saddened by the gorilla's death and the events of that day.

Once upon a time, we visited the places called zoos where animals live. With three little boys in tow, a trip to the zoo was always an educational 'childhood' destination and a major undertaking. Our little boys were inquisitive 'action' figures, always doing, thinking. They were delightful animal lovers, too. (Having dogs from birth can do that to a child.) They understood and respected these four-footed creatures wrapped in fur. 

 

Any outing with little children always required sufficient 'staff'. We were seeing their world for the first time. Their excitement was palpable. Being their primary caregivers placed an onerous responsibility on us when visiting any public facility. Vigilance was our duty. 

 

One trip to a local zoo, outside of Toronto, was especially unforgettable. There were so many animals to see. All were in close proximity to one another, each with their own unique housing site. But I took our safety for granted. (I was a neophyte in the ways of all things zoos.) I did not concern myself about barrier height or type. I made assumptions. Oh My. Everything was up close and very personal. When the lions and tigers began to roar, one day, the thunderous sounds of these jungle captives became a story to tell. We had never heard the vocalizing of these majestic cats. We were in awe of their presence and their sounds. Perhaps they were screaming, “Let us out of here!” We, the paying public, had the freedom to stay or go. They did not. When we visited the Toronto Zoo, a mammoth city-zoo unto itself, the sounds and movement of the lions, tigers and elephants were rarely seen or heard. Were they happy there? Freedom was not easy for these creatures. As time passed, however, I began to think that, maybe, the animals in a zoo might not think being there was such a great idea. They had no choice. If only they could talk.

Harambe was minding his own business that day when the end came. It would have been a shock to anyone to see a child suddenly fall into harm's way. What was the little boy thinking? Was he looking for his mom? Child and beast were doing what was normal and expected of each: the gorilla, sitting in his enclosure; the boy, exploring a new world he had just entered, unexpectedly. The mammoth gorilla, most like man himself, was probably wondering what the fuss was all about when 'family' came to 'visit'. A decision had to be made. The gorilla had to die. His daunting strength and unpredictability worked against him. Everything the boy did was expected of a child, outdoors, wanting to touch the world around him. He was an observer, an innocent, then a petrified participant.

Zoos are man-made living and breathing exhibits, designed for wild animals, in small park-like parcels of land or water. Everything is done to accommodate the unique needs of each 'resident' while keeping them safe, secure and happy in their own 'natural habitats'. What was not planned or expected, that day, was the curiosity of a child. A child lives to explore. It is his mandate, his reason for being. It is his DNA! ... 

 

A serious watchful adult eye is required of every moment when visiting the zoo with children. In a blink of an eye, we can lose that child his drive for knowledge insatiable and boundless. Concepts of time, danger or “no” have little meaning to him. ... These miniature adults-in-training are fearless explorers.  Zoos are their domain, places for their enjoyment, entertainment and education, too. Petting zoos are made for them. The animal world beckons little children to touch and explore. It is a never-ending lure of curiosity that hammers at the child until his insatiable thirst for knowing is quenched, for the time being. 

 

Visiting the zoo is a serious place, a wondrous one where two worlds collide. We need to take that responsibility seriously with our children. The animal in his special outdoor home should never be at risk. He is where he belongs, is he not? Decades ago, our then five-year-old repeatedly pulled the whiskers of our adult male retriever, one day. After several mid-range growl 'reminders', the dog responded, forthright, without pause. Our furry resident had been antagonized. (Even family pets have their limits.) A call to the doctor calmed any concerns I might have had about the 'bite'. It had not pierced the skin, thankfully. Had blood appeared and the bite been human, the outcome might have been different, I was told. ... On another occasion, the same child, caught jumping on a sofa chair, was reminded to stop. The excitement continued. Moments later, a repeat performance of his high-flying act catapulted him over the chair. Within a week, his tongue had completely healed. (The oral cavity heals quickly, he discovered, after receiving this painful reminder of his former misdeed.) Our son had pushed the limits of his physical boundaries, again. And he was five! His insatiable urge to explore never wavered, never stopped. It was simply postponed, till later, at his discretion. ...

The enclosure for Harambe, with its smooth 12-foot high concrete wall, was designed to house and keep the gorilla safe and secure. But at the top, the low-level bushes, with another protective layer of wood-framed metal mesh-fencing behind them, only served to assist a little boy in the adventure of a lifetime. ... Engineers, architects, animal experts, veterinarians and other professionals had been involved in the design, planning, construction of the gorillas' enclosure. But what was not considered was the will of a young innocent, looking in, wanting in. ... Curiosity can move mountains. ... We mourn Harambe's sudden passing. Let us learn from his tragic death.

Coming soon: The incredible world of elephants.