That’s the baseball season. But it’s also much like life.
Juanita, Cookie, Nonni, whichever you knew her by, loved baseball. She loved the Yankees.
I can’t tell you how many games I watched with her over the years - and how many subsequent screams I also encountered when things weren’t going just right.
Since I’ve been around, we saw five World Series titles. She saw a whole lot more than that.
Back to the metaphor though…
There are some things in baseball that change…different stadiums, names in a lineup, the cycle of which teams are contenders and which are pretenders.
But other parts stay the same…90 feet between the bases, nine innings, three outs….dirt kicked up on a tricky ground ball, blue skies & scintillating sunshine basking down on the green grass of the field.
Baseball spans it all….the hot, scorching August day when you’ve got the A/C kicked all the way up to the frosty October night where you’re hoping a postseason win warms your spirits.
It’s a game that may seem simple at its core: Use a wooden bat to hit a stitched together ball.
But anyone who really knows it will tell you…it’s not that easy.
The game of life’s quite similar. Maybe not as intrinsically straightforward at its core but just as nuanced.
Some hitters can straight up bash the ball, while others just struggle to hit .200.
They all have their strengths and weaknesses, even the all-time greats.
But you remember them for what they did best….what defined them.
You remember Hank Aaron and Babe Ruth for their home runs…Sandy Koufax and Randy Johnson for their nasty stuff.
I’ll remember Non for her unconditional love, the way she cared for the people who came into her life with all she could give, with the strength of a 400-foot blast out of the park.
That…was Hall of Fame worthy….first-ballot for sure.
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