Baseball therapy

A beautiful day for baseball.

 

The big question at the baseball game on Saturday was Which team is the wind playing for? Sometimes the wind worked in my team's favor, pushing a fly ball over the fence for a three-run wind-assisted home run. Sometimes the wind worked against us, blowing the pitcher right off the mound for a wind-assisted wild pitch. High winds roared past the light poles, drowning out all chatter and making the poles sway menacingly; outfielders spent as much time chasing their own hats as they did catching balls--or trying to catch balls that often took wild detours, shoved by gusts of wind into unexpected places. 

Fans in the stands had to hold on to their hats--and everything else. Napkins, popcorn, loose bits of paper flew up and plastered themselves against the protective netting. Every time the guy in front of me stood up, his seat-cushion went skittering off on its own. The rain had stopped before the game started but the parking area remained a sopping mud-pit, so I drove home with soaking feet and a wind-burned face after my team lost--but I enjoyed every single minute of it. 

This was my third baseball game of the season. I missed one home game because of a meeting and a whole weekend of tournament play because I was sick, but aside from that, I've attended every home game, even though I don't even have any students on the team this year.

I generally try to support my students by attending their art shows, theatre performances, concerts, and poetry readings; I always find out what sports my students are playing and I attend a few home games. This semester I ought to be watching my students play softball, lacrosse, or soccer, but instead I'm going to as many baseball games as I can manage.

It's a mental health thing, I tell myself. Watching soccer or lacross feels like work, and the limited seating at softball games makes viewing difficult. But baseball makes me happy, whether I have to sit huddled in a blanket or sweating in the sun or holding onto my hat in the wind. Except I forgot to wear a hat Saturday so my hair was at the mercy of 50-mile-an-hour gusts, but I don't even care how ridiculous I looked because baseball makes me happy.

After the stressful year we've had, with all those long, tense meetings bubbling with bad news, I decided this spring that I would do what I could to maximize my happiness. Is this selfish? Maybe so, but at the moment I don't care. I sit in the stands behind home plate so I can see the pitches, and I end every game with a smile, even when my team loses. I carry that smile home, where I grade papers or prep classes or work on my taxes or do household chores, none of which seem onerous in the afterglow of a baseball game.   

If spending a couple of hours sitting in the wind watching my team play baseball can blow the cobwebs out of my brain and release the stress of a three-hour meeting, that's better than therapy. Cheaper, too, even after I pay for a bag of popcorn and a bottle of water--which I'd better hold on to even after it's empty lest the wind carry it away.