Baseball and knocking on wood

So this is not the post I intended to write next.  In fact, I knew this post would have to happen but just not in this order.  Overtime and extremely busy schedule has made it imperative that I submit this post now or else you dear reader, will not know what I am going through. 

“I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me”             

                                                                                               -Anne Savoy (From Bull Durham)   

Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love baseball.  Everyone who has met me is probably aware that I am a Minnesota Twins fan but only those close to me truly understand the boyish obsession I have with the sport in general.  Since I was a boy I have loved baseball.  When I was not yet ten years old, the Twins won their first World Series.  I remember watching every game.  Kent Hrbek was my hero back then.  He hit a grand slam in game six and I thought right then that he was probably the greatest person to ever walk the earth.  When Hrbek caught the final out in game 7 to take the series it seemed to my young mind totally just and really not that shocking.  After all, these were the greatest baseball players and heroes ever.  It was only right that they should win.  Good guys ALWAYS win right?

The Twins won it all again in 1991 in what many say was one of the greatest world series ever played.  It was a thrill all over again but to me, the one in 87 was better, perhaps because of my age and innocence at the time.  See, by 1991 I was a teenager with teenager problems, attitude, hormones.  I had just begun to become the mess I would be a few years later.  Baseball, was not the only thing in life.  There were things baseball could not comfort. 

I love baseball.  I really can’t overstate it.  Every year, around January I begin to get wrestles at night.  I find it hard to sleep and my mind drifts to a recurring fantasy I have played in my head since I was a very little boy.  Usually I am a pitcher though sometimes I am a position player.  The details evolve but the overall theme stays the same which is of course me leading the team to a championship.  My wife will break silence in our bed and say “hey what are you thinking about?”  It’s as if she can hear the crowd cheering in my head.  I usually just laugh from embarrassment of being caught. 

I used to knock on things.  Ya know like knocking on wood.  I would knock whenever an announcer said things like “…Brad Radke hasn’t given up a homerun in 10 games.”  To me, that usually meant that he would give one up this game.  So I would have to knock on wood to overcome the effect of the stupidity of the announcer.  Pretty much positive statements were not allowed.  I began to enforce the rule with my friends.  As time went on, I became aware of the things I thought.  Some of those things were also very knockable.  It was not uncommon for you to watch a game with me and for me to seemingly at random get up, walk over to something wooden and knock on it.  Most people found this to be entertaining or funny but I could also get into a pretty bad mood if you provoked me with your statements.  It was crazy and probably unhealthy.  But it wasn’t hurting anybody.

Before we were married, I was being what I imagined was charming with my wife and I told her “I love you more than ice cream.”  And “I love you more than bacon.” I had thrown out a couple of these lines when she asked “what about baseball.  Do you love me more than baseball.”

I thought for a second trying to do honest soul searching and finally answered “yes…but it’s close.”

Our first son was around one and a half years old.   He had had several episodes where he couldn’t walk or bear weight on one of his legs.  He would cry in pain as we tried in vein to comfort him.  We took him to the doctor who was sure it was nothing but took blood just to be safe.  Over the course of a few weeks the doctor took more blood and kept seeing things that didn’t look right.  Finally his doctor gave us the news that we were being referred to Children’s Hospital in Chicago and that there were indications that our son may have bone cancer.  I was devastated.  I was in a daze.  I couldn’t really summon any emotion.  While my wife very appropriately cried and showed vulnerability, I just became angry.  I was angry at a God who would put any child through this kind of pain.  I couldn’t fathom putting our child through the torture of chemo therapy, radiation and whatever else was in store.  Our son knew so few words back then and he wouldn’t know what was going on.  It was then I learned how morbid my mind could be as I couldn’t help but imagine our son in a hospital, in a casket…loosing limbs and loosing his battle.  It was overwhelming and for the next month while we waited to see someone at Childrens Hospital the tone in our house became sadder and more resigned with every episode of knee pain…we became pretty sure our son had cancer.

It was during this time I when I was watching the Twins make an incredible run for the division title.  I recall knocking something said on TV and immediately felt…bad.  I was suddenly aware that for me knocking was some sort of wish or prayer.  And regardless of how I felt about God and religion I knew in that instant that the only things worth really praying for were my family and in that moment my sons health.  Nothing could ever be so important as to make me wish so hard that I forgot what was really worth wishing for.  I can count on one hand the number of times I have knocked on wood during a baseball game since then and it was always out of habit and I always “took it back.”  (there is an official way to do this.)

Long story short; after seeing our son the doctor in Chicago found that other than some unusual blood work, there was nothing wrong with our son.  To this day that experience has been a powerful lesson in gratitude for our family.  Its pretty sobering to be faced with the very worse thing you can imagine happening to your family.  I have not been able to see a “Make a Wish,” special on ESPN or pass a donation jar for a childs picture on it and not feel sympathy and sadness for the child and their family.  I cannot imagine what they are going through…or maybe I just don’t want to.

To this day the only time I knock is when for our family.  I don’t pray really very often.  In fact most my prayers start something like: “Oh shit!  Dear God….”  But I figure if there is a god, he would understand and appreciate my knocking on wood as my way of asking for only what our family needs and That I am trying to be unselfish.  So when you see me at the doctors office you may see me knock but it’s probably because I don’t want our boys to have whooping cough.  Or maybe you’ll see me knock at a job interview that will bring more money and stability to the family.  I suppose it’s got to be better than the “oh shit prayer.” 

Baseball is still one of my favorite things about this life but until I found my wife and family I didn’t know the capacity my heart had and the absolute joy that is possible when we are grateful for what we have and those who love us.

“Remember, that it's only a game but it's the best game on earth and it's our privilege to watch it”              -Batgirl (Bat-girl.com)

Well said. 

Now, with all that said go Twins!