The IP Weekly
Our trip was billed as a baseball trip. We were headed from New York to Kansas City to see our beloved Mets play the downtrodden Royals in a part of the country we had never visited before. There were baseball storylines to follow, the Mets and Royals have their own history including the 2015 World Series. Further, this trip surrounded the Major League Baseball trade deadline with the Mets playing a big role by offloading their best pitchers signaling the effective end of their already disappointing season. In short, there were no shortage of baseball topics to discuss throughout our journey.
This was also a trip about family. For me, baseball and family have always been linked making it extra special every time I walk into a stadium. This trip was multi-generational including my 80 year old father and 2 of his grandchildren, 23 and 17, and me in my mid-fifties trying to piece it all together. We had an ambitious itinerary, flying into Kansas City Tuesday afternoon for a game to be played that night followed by a day of exploring the Negro League Museum and a traditional Kansas City BBQ dinner. These are the itineraries of young people for sure.
Our hotel accommodations were lovely with my father and I bunking together for the first time since who knows when. Having conversations while we were both tucked into our beds was both unusual and reminiscent of times gone by. I could see myself as a little boy while my father talked to me about topics I cannot remember. Making sure he was up on time each morning and that he had his appropriate pills at hand became my role as determining who was taking care of whom became an open question.
This was a trip about time, isn’t baseball always tied to time in some way? How many more of these trips will we be able to take? Time impacts all of us. By the 6th inning of the game my son and I took a walk around the stadium to explore its features. He’s 23 but I remember when he was much younger and we took similar walks around Shea Stadium and Citifield. The game moves much faster now thanks to the pitch clock, couldn’t they have suspended that adaptation for one game to give me more time? He knows so much more than I do about baseball. I remember so clearly when it was me regaling him with stories and now it’s him regaling me. I can still look at him and see the face of an 8 year old boy, is that how my father looks at me?
Baseball has long been a game of leisure with a meandering pace like the summer days they’re played during. Now baseball is in more of a rush which seems to fit with the rest of life. Overall, these changes to the game are good, the games had become too long anyway. When did life decide to move so quickly too? Baseball is so deeply rooted in its history, in our histories that they go hand in hand. I can still feel my young hand holding tightly onto my father’s as we walked through Shea Stadium. I can feel my son’s hand in mine as he enjoyed his first games as a child. And while my father’s hand needed to be held occasionally there really isn’t a hand to hold. Time just keeps moving along.
Two days after the game in Kansas City and I know the Mets lost. I also know the memory of that one game will fade away as the outcome itself couldn’t be less meaningful. We have convinced ourselves that the games matter most, that it’s the wins and losses we care most about. I don’t know how many games I’ve been to in my life. I can remember the outcomes of a few for sure, but it’s the memories of who I was with that matter the most.
