The American Dream: A Shortstop with Standards

            When Derek Jeter made his Major League Baseball debut in the spring and summer of 1995, it was a busy time in America. An act of domestic terrorism had recently struck Oklahoma City, and the Unabomber was on the loose. The United States Congress was at sharp odds with the president. Acts of savage cruelty abroad had led the U.S. to take military action in Bosnia. Extreme heat waves in the Midwest had many wondering what was happening to our climate. A trial in Manhattan was under way for the 1993 terrorist bombing of the World Trade Center. A Brooklyn man had recently been sent to prison for life after shooting and killing several people on a Long Island train. And a certain former NFL running back was on trial for murder in Los Angeles.
            There were a lot of frightening things happening, and it was hard sometimes to find your footing in what felt like an uneven world. But one September evening, a baseball shortstop helped us remember how inspiring humans can be when they’re at their best. Baltimore Orioles shortstop Cal Ripken Jr. had been playing his position every day for nearly 14 years without missing a single game. On September 6, he broke the record that many had thought to be untouchable – Lou Gehrig’s mark for consecutive games played. When the 2,131^st game of Ripken’s career became official, his teammates encouraged him to jog around Oriole Park at Camden Yards, shaking hands and slapping high-fives with fans. As millions of people watched Ripken on TV, they shared a moment that was clearly about much more than baseball.

            In the 19 years since that summer, you can argue that a lot has changed in this world and this country, but that an awful lot has also stayed the same. There are still too many people out there engaged in activities that we struggle to understand, from terrorism to domestic shootings to governmental infighting to ignorance of global warming. We read more of our news online these days than we did in 1995, but we often hesitate to scan the headlines, sometimes because we just don’t want to hear about another crisis.

            Derek Jeter has been working at his job in the Bronx during every one of these past 19 years, often excelling at his job during our most frightful collective moments. He led the New York Yankees to 125 wins in 1998, when the Clinton-Lewinski scandal held Americans’ attention. He won the World Series MVP award in 2000, leading the Yanks past the cross-town Mets a few days before the American presidential electoral process entered a state of chaos. He made two of the most extraordinary plays in playoff history during the fall of 2001, just weeks after the attacks of September 11. He led the Yankees to their 27^th championship in 2009, one day before the Fort Hood shootings. He led the American League in hits in 2012 at age 38, with the Yankees finishing their postseason run a few days before Hurricane Sandy hit. During these moments, Jeter didn’t ask for the applause, nor did he view himself as larger than life. He just said he was living his dream, playing for his favorite team, and wanted only to win. His modesty, maximum effort and grace under pressure were all we needed to feel that maybe things were not so bad out there as they seemed.

            Human nature being what it is, we can be sure that individuals will continue making decisions that frighten, confuse and worry us in the days and years ahead. Even in the world of sports, we have seen a whole host of poor decisions, from steroid use among baseball players to off-the-field violence among football players to neglect of head injuries in several sports. But in spite of this constant turmoil, there are always individuals out there who inspire us. Some of them are artists, others are teachers, and others are just people we love who serve as our personal role models. And, yes, there are also athletes. Since Cal Ripken’s moment 19 years ago, other sports stars have stepped forward and provided more examples of excellence on and off the field. Athletes such as Tim Duncan, Peyton Manning, Mariano Rivera and Grant Hill have gained such respect within and beyond the world of sports because of the way they’ve carried themselves day in and day out. When young athletes arrive in the pros saying they idolized Manning or Hill while growing up, you know it’s not just because of how great these players were in action. It’s also because of the class they showed while playing the game.

Before I knew the name Derek Jeter, I was covering the University of North Carolina men’s basketball team as a college senior in Chapel Hill. I had just written dozens of stories chronicling the team’s second national championship under Coach Dean Smith in 1993, and I was invited to the program’s year-end dinner. As I sat in the arena named for Smith and listened to him speak, I was struck by the tears this often-stoic coach shed while speaking of his players. He cared just as much for the walk-on bench player as he did the leading scorer, and he spoke more about players’ grades and post-college plans than their basketball accomplishments. That evening, I sat next to the late Doug Marlette, whose editorial cartoons had won him a well-deserved Pulitzer Prize. Marlette, who lived in a nearby town, was a big Tar Heels fan. When I asked why he loved UNC basketball, Marlette began speaking of Smith. “He has such standards,” Marlette said, explaining that when you set such high goals for yourself and those you lead, you tend to win – and win with integrity.

Three years later, I was watching Derek Jeter celebrate his first championship with the Yankees, and I heard him speak reverently of the Yankees’ manager, Joe Torre. I saw him embrace his parents, and refrain from even the slightest boast. This, you could tell, was a man with standards. It’s hard to believe that he’s already 40 now, and that his career will end this weekend in Boston. Last night, in his final game at Yankee Stadium, Jeter heard more than 48,000 people cheer his name for more than three hours straight. He said he nearly cried several times, and felt it was he who should be thanking the fans. Again, the modesty.

The highlight reels can show you all the clutch hits, diving catches and great throws in Jeter’s career. But really, that’s just part of the story. You needed to hear those fans last night, chanting “Thank you, Derek,” just as you needed to see Cal Ripken take his lap around Camden Yards. These were gifted, millionaire athletes, on the receiving end of adulation that seemed at odds with a harsh, cynical world. We’ve taken a lot of hits over the past two decades. But somehow, we keep finding the sparks of light. Sometimes those sparks are standing at shortstop. Only in moments like these can you see just how ready and willing we are to applaud those who hold onto standards in this crazy world of ours.

Pennant-Race Memories: Handle with Care

                It’s likely that the New York Yankees won’t make the playoffs this year, giving them two straight seasons without a playoff berth since 1992 and ‘93. If the Yankees are your favorite team, as they are for the residents of the Hynes household, this is disappointing. But if you’re paying attention to the full baseball season, you know that several groups of long-suffering fans are getting the chance to see their teams in a pennant race this summer. That is the story of baseball in 2014, and it’s a great one.

You’ve got the Kansas City Royals, absent from the playoffs for 29 years, standing in first place in their division. The Baltimore Orioles, out of the playoffs for 28 of the last 31 years, also in first place. The Milwaukee Brewers, who have made the playoffs just four times in their 45-year existence, holding onto first place. The Pittsburgh Pirates, who last year made the playoffs for the first time in 20 years, in the Wild Card chase. And the Toronto Blue Jays, absent from the playoffs for 21 years, also in the Wild Card hunt. Even the Washington Nationals, trying to bring playoff baseball to the nation’s capital for just the second time in 81 years, in first place.

When you look at this season from the vantage point of long-awaited hope, it gives you reason to worry little about whether usual playoff suspects such as the Yankees, Philadelphia Phillies, Detroit Tigers, St. Louis Cardinals, Atlanta Braves and Boston Red Sox will make the postseason this year. These teams and their fans certainly will survive. But the Royals! How can you not root for the kids in Kansas City? Even baseball’s two most consistent teams this year, the first-place Oakland Athletics and Los Angeles Dodgers, have not won a World Series since Rick Astley, Richard Marx and Gloria Estefan were ruling Billboard’s Top 40.

A few weeks ago, I took a weekend trip with my brother and our friend Neil, to spend some time together and celebrate Eric and Neil both turning 40 this year. When we go away together, the three of us usually travel to baseball stadiums. This time, it was an Orioles game one night, followed by a Nationals game the next. We watched the home teams win their games, and the stadiums were loud and full. We were impressed by how many fans dressed in the colors of their teams – Orioles orange and Nationals red. It also was impressive to see the teams enjoying their own traditions – Orioles fans belting out John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” during the seventh-inning stretch, and Nationals fans cheering wildly for Teddy Roosevelt as he won the nightly race of mascot presidents, beating out Lincoln, Washington, Jefferson and Taft.

There was a lot of late-summer hope in the voices and eyes of these Mid-Atlantic baseball fans. The same can be heard and seen in Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Milwaukee and other mid-size cities around the country, where the local teams are giving their fans reason to avoid thinking about football quite yet. In the end, though, these pennant-race ballgames always mean more than wins and losses. If you’re traveling to a game with your friends or family, you’re going to have time to sit together in the stands and talk, perhaps even about stuff more important than balls and strikes.

I can tell you about a lot of the Yankee games I’ve seen with Eric and Neil, but I also can tell you about many good talks and laughs we’ve had at the ballpark in the Bronx. During our Maryland weekend, we talked a lot of baseball but also caught up on one another’s lives, sharing stories of recent trips, photos of kids, and songs we’ve been enjoying. We took in the games, but also searched for tasty ballpark food together, with Eric raving over the jerk chicken in Nationals Park and Neil savoring his chili dog. I’m sure I can dig up some details of the games from my memory, but none of them come to mind as clearly as the three of us munching on late-night nachos in a pub in Alexandria, Va., or discovering the historic Maine Avenue Fish Market on our walk to the Nationals game, or singing the Traveling Wilburys’ Handle with Care together as Neil drove north on I-295, heading home.

So in this late summer of 2014, those of us in New York will never be Royals. We’re Yankees fans, so we’ll take what we can get. But as the people in Kansas City and Pittsburgh and Baltimore and D.C. get together for an energizing pennant race, we know that their fans will love the baseball. But Eric, Neil and I can tell you that in the end, a great game is really just an invitation to deepen a friendship. Put on those orange or red T-shirts, grab some jerk chicken, and create some memories together.

Everybody’s got somebody to lean on.

The Story of the Year (One Sixty-Two: Day 160)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day One Hundred Sixty: Armando Galarraga, Detroit Tigers

As the baseball season’s final week unfolds, the media spotlight shines on teams in pennant races and on individual players pursuing awards and statistical crowns. All of these clubs and players are well worth the attention they’re receiving. But the story of the year in baseball did not involve any playoff implications or MVP-caliber players.

It involved a blown call, a disastrous end to the best game one man had ever played, and the supreme sportsmanship that followed. Detroit Tigers starting pitcher Armando Galarraga has not lit up the world by any means as a pitcher this year: He’s 4-8 on the year, with more hits given up than innings pitched, and nearly as many walks as strikeouts. The Tigers are a mediocre team this year, and Galarraga fits that mold with his 4.62 earned-run average and just one complete game.

But oh, that one complete game. Bring me your most dramatic, exciting pitching performance in the playoffs this year, and I’ll still take Galarraga’s June 2nd masterpiece over it any day. It’s two outs, bottom of the ninth inning, and no Indians player has even reached first base. All Galarraga needs to do is retire shortstop Jason Donald and it’s all over. The pitcher gets Donald to hit a ground ball to first base, where Detroit’s Miguel Cabrera fields and throws to Galarraga, who is covering first. The throw and pitcher’s foot beat the runner, yet somehow, umpire Jim Joyce misses the call. He throws out his hands and rules the runner safe.

The rest is now the stuff of legend: Galarraga finishes off his one-hitter. Joyce goes to the umpires’ locker room and sees his missed call. He walks into the Tigers’ locker room and apologizes, tears in his eyes. Galaragga forgives, immediately. The Tigers rally around their pitcher’s kindness, and the fans follow their pitcher’s lead and give Joyce an ovation the next day. The umpire’s immediate and emotional apology, coupled with the pitcher’s perspective and grace, reminded those who follow sports that there is a lot more to life than a perfect two hours on the pitcher’s mound.

Galarraga found the strength and understanding to reach out with compassion to another human being who had made a mistake, who felt the pain of that error, and who needed forgiveness. At this moment in late spring, Armando Galarraga reminded us that in its greatest moments, baseball really can serve as a metaphor for life at its very best.

A few weeks ago, the Tigers hosted the Baltimore Orioles at home. Galarraga took the hill and threw a strong seven innings, yielding just four hits and three runs. The home-plate umpire for that game was Jim Joyce. The two men crossed paths once more and gave their all, just as they’d done three months earlier. Once again, there was no perfect ending to be found – that is, if you’re measuring life through statistics. If you’re measuring instead by acts of sportsmanship, then this is about as perfect as it gets.

Programming Hope (One Sixty-Two: Day 159)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day One Hundred Fifty-Nine: Brian Matusz, Baltimore Orioles

In the fall of 1984, I learned how to perform basic programming on my Commodore 64 computer. I could craft a program in which users were asked a question, to which they would be asked to type their own response. The program would then give an (A) or (B) answer based on whether or not the user had given the correct response.

For the topic of this program, I chose the 1985 New York Yankees. The fact that I had crafted a computer program about baseball was completely unsurprising to anyone who knew me. But why was I making this program about the following year’s Yankee team? After all, we still had a few more months of ’84 yet to live. The Detroit Tigers had yet to defeat the San Diego Padres handily in the World Series. And Ronald Reagan had yet to defeat Walter Mondale even more handily in the presidential election. Why was this obsessive 13-year-old looking ahead so eagerly?

It was all about the way things were ending in the South Bronx that year; I was excited about the future. The Yankees, who had started miserably that year, finished strong under manager Yogi Berra to the tune of 87 wins. I had seen a lot of young, pinstriped players bloom in the ’84 season. Therefore, my wacky new program asked the user which player he or she thought would start at each position for the Yankees the next year. If you selected the player I agreed with, the program told you so. If I disagreed, it gave you a different answer.

So if you answered the question, “Who do you think will play shortstop for the Yankees next year?” with the answer “Bobby Meacham,” the program responded by telling you that I expected Andre Robertson to start at short instead. If you answered my question about first base with the words “Don Mattingly,” you were greeted with enthusiastic agreement.

Young players like Robertson, Mattingly, Mike Pagliarulo and Joe Cowley had helped the team post a 51-29 record in the season’s second half. Like many kids with “NY” logos on their caps, I was pretty pumped about the year ahead. Most of the other fans could contain their obsession enough to avoid creating Commodore 64 programs about the Yankees. But I guess we all have our passions – and quirks.

This evening, I thought about that autumn of 26 years ago while looking at the standings and noticing how well the Baltimore Orioles have played since Buck Showalter took over as manager. The O’s seemed destined for an utterly miserable season in late July, but the hiring of Showalter on July 29 has given the Maryland faithful a lot of reasons to hope. The former Yankees, Diamondbacks and Rangers manager has steered Baltimore to a 30-22 record over the past two months. Young Orioles pitchers and position players who’ve had the words “potential” stamped on their foreheads for some time have finally started playing quality major-league ball, and they’ve won ballgames as a result. Left-handed pitcher Brian Matusz, for instance, has gone 6-1 with seven quality starts since Showalter took over the reins. A first-round draft pick two years ago, Matusz is the future ace of this club, and he appears ready to fill that role as soon as next season.

So the fans are getting excited in Baltimore again, and Buck Showalter is spoken of glowingly in conversations at Inner Harbor restaurants these days. As for the kids at home, they’ve already started dreaming of a return to the playoffs for the boys in orange and black. I don’t think many of those kids own a Commodore 64, and even if they did I don’t think they’d use it for Orioles starting-lineup quizzes.

But whatever they do, the youngsters who cheer for the Baltimore Orioles have more than a few reasons to think about the spring of 2011. You can’t program a winning season, but you can recognize something good when you see it. Now, Orioles fans, let’s get started – who should Buck start at first base?

Cleaning House (One Sixty-Two: Day 143)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day One Hundred Forty-Three: Melvin Mora, Colorado Rockies

Today we had it out. They refused to clean their rooms once again, and then they wanted to turn the living room into a third play area. I said no. They pouted. And on it went.

I get little help on the cleaning front because my wife believes our two girls need to take ownership over their own rooms. If they don’t want to clean, she says, then let them deal with the consequences themselves. I have just a wee bit of obsessive-compulsiveness within me, so I cringe when I see the clothes strewn about and the emptied bins of American Girl doll clothes all over the floor. I often give in and clean the rooms myself, which only serves to enable the thing I’m trying to change.

So what is a father to do? How do you make it through the moments when two kids seem like two more than you can handle?

You think of Melvin Mora, that’s what you do. The Colorado Rockies third baseman, now in his 12th season as a major-leaguer, is the father of 9-year-old quintuplets. I am sure that this man’s home features a frenzy of activity the likes of which I have never seen. If I’m going to stress out over two messy rooms, I can only imagine what it’s like for a father of five active fourth-graders. I would imagine that you learn to put things like dirty socks into perspective. You choose instead to check on how everyone is feeling today, and if the homework’s been completed, and if everybody has eaten. You spend some time playing and talking with your kids, and you listen to them tell you about their classes and friends and sports teams. Cleaning up, I would think, falls a bit lower on the list.

At age 38, Melvin Mora is near the end of a successful career that has seen him collect nearly 1,500 hits while playing various infield and outfield positions for the New York Mets, Baltimore Orioles, and Colorado Rockies. Mora’s quintuplets weren’t born yet when he appeared in the playoffs for the first and only time, with the 1999 Mets. This year, Mora has been a backup for the Rockies, but he has started nearly every day since starting third baseman Ian Stewart went down with an injury a couple of weeks ago. And during Mora’s time in the lineup, the Rockies have become baseball’s hottest team, winning 10 straight games and pulling to within 1½ games of the National League West division lead. If the red-hot Rockies keep it up, perhaps the Mora Five will have the chance to see their dad play in the postseason, after all.

There’s probably very little time for cleaning in the Mora household these days, other than all the sweeping that Dad’s team has been doing at the expense of other baseball teams. It’s a busy time of year, what with school starting and pennant races running full-tilt. It’s the kind of bustle that leaves kids to take care of their own rooms.

After all, the American Girl doll clothes won’t destroy the house. And, when you least expect it, they will clean. They are your kids, and you’ve raised them well. Take a breath, Dad. Watch a ballgame. Check out those Rockies.

Now You Find Yourself in '82 (One Sixty-Two: Day 120)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day One Hundred Twenty: B.J. Upton, Tampa Bay Rays

We’re going to make a baseball-to-movies analogy here, and it manages to connect E.T. to B.J. Let’s start with the films.

In 1982, the Oscar nominees for Best Picture were so outstanding that Academy Award voters had an incredible challenge on their hands. The most notable nominee was Steven Spielberg’s E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, which had become the highest-grossing film in history as well as a critically-acclaimed masterpiece. But there was also Richard Attenborough’s Gandhi, also adored by critics and, with its three-hour-bio-epic structure, was just the kind of film that typically wins these awards.

But there’s more. There was the Dustin Hoffman-Sydney Pollack tour de force known as Tootsie. There was the Sidney Lumet-David Mamet-Paul Newman classic The Verdict. And there was the intense drama Missing, featuring Jack Lemmon and Sissy Spacek tearing up the screen.

These five nominees weren’t even the only ones labeled “classic” in 1982. Among those films not nominated for Best Picture: the Meryl Streep tragedy Sophie’s Choice, the Ridley Scott cult hit Blade Runner, the Richard Gere-Debra Winger drama An Officer and a Gentleman, and the highly-decorated German film Das Boot.

It was an unbelievable year for movies, with cinema soaring to a supremely high level. You can argue that any of the nominees from 1982 would have taken the Best Picture prize in 1985, when Out of Africa bested The Color Purple, Kiss of the Spider Woman, Prizzi’s Honor and Witness for the top trophy. But sometimes, a lot of cream rises to the top at once.

This takes us to our baseball connection. In 2010, the American League East Division has taken a 1982 Oscar bent. The New York Yankees lead the division with the best record in baseball, followed by the Tampa Bay Rays who at one game back sport the second-best record in the game. In third place, the Boston Red Sox sit 16 games over .500 and would be leading the American League West Division by one game were they in that group. Instead, Boston sits 6½ games behind the Yankees in the division and 5½ games behind the Rays in the Wild Card hunt. In fourth place, the Toronto Blue Jays remain six games over .500 and would be just five games back in the Wild Card race were they in the National League. But alas, they are in the AL East, and are therefore 11½ games behind the Yankees in the division and 10½ games behind the Rays for the Wild Card. In last place, we have the Baltimore Orioles, who would be in the cellar in nearly every division. But there’s got to be at least one punching bag in a division this strong.

There will be room for only two of these teams in the playoffs, as the American League’s Wild Card entry surely will come from here. There are a lot of games to play before it’s over, many of them pitting the divisional rivals against one another. Tampa Bay centerfielder B.J. Upton has begun to heat up, as he often does this time of year, and he’s certainly looking to help his young Rays defeat the mighty Yankees for the division title and, if needed, during the playoffs as well. But the Red Sox and Blue Jays aren’t done yet, either, and the Orioles under new manager Buck Showalter are ready to play the role of spoiler.

The baseball analysts will probably tell you to expect this year’s division winner to come from the South Bronx. They’ll tell you that the Yankees are just too strong a team to lose this year. And they may be right. But you never know. The experts can be wrong.

There were a lot of people thinking in 1982 that E.T. would win it all, with its blockbuster status and its heartwarming ending. But this was not to be. It was the year of Gandhi, as the film took top honors, as did Best Actor winner Ben Kingsley.

E.T. is, of course, the most enduring film of these 1982 classics, as it is rented, bought and watched far more than the others. But if even E.T. can go down in the Best Picture race, why can’t the mighty Yankees fall as well? It’s enough to keep B.J. and his boys playing their hardest, night after night. The cream has risen, and it’s about to overflow.

The Shooting Star (One Sixty-Two: Day 115)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day One Hundred Fifteen: Brian Roberts, Baltimore Orioles (via Peter Horn)

There was a meteor shower the other night, which was a perfect fit for the week of Peter Horn’s wedding. We can’t meet all of the people living among us in this world, but there are some folks who seem to come awfully close. They spend a good portion of their lives trying to connect with as many individuals as possible. Peter is one such person.

Peter goes by a lot of titles: teacher, musician, poet, actor, administrator, mentor, student, friend, son, brother, uncle. But perhaps the best way to describe this man is as a shooting star, a force of nature who lights up the room wherever he goes, and finds a way to illuminate the lives of those whom he encounters.

Yesterday, Peter added another title to his life list: Husband. He and his wife, Robyn, held hands in a charming church ceremony and declared their love for each other via personalized vows and an “All You Need is Love” recessional. After the ceremony, Peter and Robyn led their guests to a field nestled warmly in the heart of the Catskill Mountains. As guests dined and socialized beneath a giant white tent, members of the bride and groom’s families performed music and delivered eloquent toasts. Dozens of guests had taken up Peter and Robyn on their offer to camp on the grounds of the wedding reception, and their tents could be seen down a trail, pitched beside a clear stream.

As the carrot-cake cupcakes disappeared from the dessert tray, the reception ended and this wedding began its third act: that of a rock concert. Friends and relatives of the bride and groom took turns on a stage, complete with speakers and video screen, to end this joyous day by rocking out. As they had done all day long, the bride and groom floated around the tent, connecting with as many people as they could. At around nine at night, Peter tapped me on the shoulder and introduced me to an uncle of his who loves baseball. Peter told his uncle that I was the author of “The Pitch,” a baseball blog, then moved on to chat with another guest.

The uncle told me he was a fan of the Baltimore Orioles, and that he’s heard good things about the team’s new manager, Buck Showalter. I told him his club had a lot of good, young players. The Orioles also have a second baseman in Brian Roberts who manages to make everyone else on the field better. A Peter Horn of sorts. But as for Peter’s uncle, he wasn’t really in a place where he could break down Brian Roberts’s intangibles. He’d been making rather merry on this day. “My problem,” he told me, “is that I don’t blog. I’ve got to start blogging.”

I smiled, and let Peter’s uncle enjoy the rest of his festive evening. When I turned toward the stage, I saw the bride. Still glowing in her white gown, Robyn stood before a microphone. Robyn is a stage performer, but she’s been known to front the occasional rock band. Peter, meanwhile, was hooking up his electric violin. His bandmates were ready, and off they went, bride and groom, sharing the vocals to Cream’s “White Room.”

A little while later, as my wife and I were carrying our sleepy daughters to the car, we looked up above the trees on this dark, dreamy evening. Thousands of stars sparkled in that black sky like nothing I’ve ever seen outside of a planetarium. As we neared our car, we could hear the voices of husband and wife, newlyweds, leading their guests in a sing-a-long:

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me / Shine until tomorrow, let it be.

I’m not privy to the music of angels quite yet. But I have a feeling it sounded and felt a lot like August 14th, on a heavenly hill, where a shooting star and his radiant wife led their friends beneath a white tent to celebrate life.

Flying the Flag (One Sixty-Two: Day 75)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day Seventy-Five: Matt Wieters, Baltimore Orioles

When you walk around a Jersey Shore town, every once in awhile you’ll pass a house with the Maryland state flag hanging outside. It’s not a long drive from Maryland to Southern Jersey, especially if you take the ferry from Lewes, Del., to Cape May. Whenever I pass such a house, I am reminded of just how gorgeous that flag is.

There’s no state flag like it, both visually and historically. The flag is broken up into quadrants, yet only two images are drawn on the flag – each of them on diagonally opposing quadrants. One image depicts a red and white cross, while the other depicts a yellow and black diamond pattern. When viewed altogether, the dueling images make for a striking flag display. Historically, the images mean a lot to Maryland, as this is the only state flag whose design is based on heraldic emblems. The two images depict the coats of arms of the Calvert and Crossland families, founders of the Maryland colony back in the 17th century.

They take their images seriously in Maryland, from the state flag to the muscle-bound turtle on University of Maryland Terrapins T-shirts, to the slick, elongated bird on Baltimore Ravens helmets. In terms of sports, though, no Maryland image is as impressive and iconic as the simple, yet elegant bird on Baltimore Orioles hats and T-shirts. It’s a detailed Oriole of black and orange, and he calls to mind both the natural environment of the region as well as the proud history of a baseball franchise.

It’s one thing to look good, of course, and yet another thing to execute. While every Baltimore Oriole looks sharp in white, orange and black, not many Orioles have appeared all that capable on the field in the past decade and a half. This year’s Orioles, owners of the worst record in baseball, are on their way to a franchise-record 13th straight season with a losing record. This from a franchise that once ran off a string of 18 consecutive winning seasons, from 1968-1985. From the mid-1960s to the mid-1980s, no American League team was as consistent as Baltimore. Manager Earl Weaver fielded a team of great pitchers and solid hitters, and Orioles fans respected and admired their clubs. World Series were won here, and Hall of Fame players were honored to suit up for the Birds.

After the 1992 opening of Oriole Park at Camden Yards, one of the great ballparks in Major League Baseball history, the Orioles went on another winning streak, fielding competitive teams for a half-dozen years in the ‘90s and making the playoffs twice. But after a surprising playoff loss to the Cleveland Indians in 1997, the Orioles have come up empty year after year ever since.

This year’s team has a lot of exciting young players, none more highly touted than catcher Matt Wieters. And yet, the Orioles are 25-57, a whopping 26 games out of first place. Wieters is hitting just .239, and the team as a whole is hitting just slightly better than that. The Baltimore manager has already been changed, giving the O’s their sixth manager since this lengthy losing streak began. By comparison, the Atlanta Braves – the Southeast’s other big-league team – have had just one manager over the past 20 years. With Bobby Cox’s consistent leadership, the Braves have produced a losing record just twice in the past two decades.

So when will the losing stop in Baltimore? When will the fans be given reason to return to Camden Yards? Word is that Baltimore is talking with Buck Showalter, the ESPN analyst and former manager who has helped turn around the fortunes of all three teams he’s led. Perhaps Showalter will have the winning touch here as well.

Until then, the Maryland flag will keep on waving outside those Jersey Shore vacation homes. They do sell Orioles flags, and they can be flown outside your house, too. It’s just that winning makes every flag a bit prettier, and a bit more desirable. Until the losing stops, Marylanders will stick with their coats of arms.

A Change in Command (One Sixty-Two: Day 63)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day Sixty-Three: Gaby Sanchez, Florida Marlins

The man in charge had changed on Wednesday. But Gaby Sanchez didn’t miss a beat.

When the Florida Marlins decided to fire manager Fredi Gonzalez on Wednesday morning, it left the team’s players with a significant challenge – to continue playing their very best without the man who had led them all year. Obviously, the Marlins’ front office believes the team will be even better under interim manager Edwin Rodriguez and whoever the permanent replacement is. But however it turns out, it’s clear that the Marlins have been thrust into a period of transition. The question, of course, is just how smoothly that transition will go.

Last night, just hours after Gonzalez had been fired, the Marlins faced the Baltimore Orioles. Sanchez, who has been excellent in his first full season as a big-league first baseman, led his team to a 7-5 win with a home run and three hits. For the moment, at least, the transition seemed smooth. Tonight, Sanchez produced three more hits. But the Orioles had 17 hits of their own, which led to a 11-5 Baltimore win. Tonight, the Marlins most definitely missed a beat.

When the man in charge is dismissed, we pay close attention. In a much more important arena on Wednesday, the president of the United States replaced the commanding general in charge of the longest war in American history. President Obama placed Gen. David Petraeus in charge of the war in Afghanistan, removing Gen. Stanley McChrystal after McChrystal and his staff made disparaging remarks about the White House staff in a magazine interview.

There are millions of Americans following this war, and thousands of Americans fighting in this war. Those soldiers who patrol the mountains and streets of Afghanistan want to know that their leadership is strong. According to published stories of a news conference today, the president was as clear as he could be regarding the transition’s impact.

“We will not miss a beat because of the change in command in the Afghan theater,” Obama said.

The troops in Afghanistan want to believe this. The proof, of course, is in actions rather than in words. The same applies to those ballplayers in Florida. They’re looking to their manager and front office to see if the plans are sound. They know there’s a new man in the dugout, and they may not be happy about it. But these things happen in life; it’s the overall direction, mission, and confidence that you study closely. The Marlins’ owner, Jeffrey Loria, says he wants to win, and I’m sure he means it. But his entire team payroll is equal to the left side of the New York Yankees’ infield. Is that really enough? The president says our mission in Afghanistan is sound. But if there is significant infighting about the war within his own administration, can that administration really lead a viable war effort?

It’s hard to avoid missing a beat sometimes, even when you have a steady commander. Gaby Sanchez is trying to do his part; he inched his average above .300 tonight. He’s not even supposed to be the next great Marlins first baseman. But he’s executing wonderfully. Someone has reached him, and tapped into Sanchez’s resolve.

That took leadership, and so far it’s producing results. It’s the job of the true leaders in this world to bring out our best, and to make us better than we ever thought we could be. When we feel that personal growth, and we see ourselves working together as a team, we know the men in charge are doing something right.

Stemming the Flow (One Sixty-Two: Day 44)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day Forty-Four: Chris Tillman, Baltimore Orioles

When you view it through the box score, it looks like a disaster. He faced 11 batters, and five of them reached via hit. Two more walked. Four runners scored. The line tells you he pitched one and one-third inning, and watched from the mound as the Boston Red Sox belted him around the park. Once the struggles began for Chris Tillman last night, they didn’t stop.

Tillman is one of the Baltimore Orioles’ hot young prospects, and he’ll likely pitch much better his next time around. But last night, after absorbing a Boston pounding, the young man might have struggled to remember it was just a game.

If he did have some trouble letting go of last night’s loss, Tillman needed only to look at a newspaper for perspective. A lost ballgame hurts, but the flow of Red Sox runs means very little compared to the flow of oil beneath the Gulf of Mexico.

Tillman’s poor pitching numbers pale in comparison to the numbers we’re getting out of the Gulf: According to British Petroleum, more than 115 million gallons of oil may already have spilled into the Gulf since the Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion of April 20. The lineup of animals affected by this disaster is much more frightening than any Red Sox lineup, ranging from pelicans and gulls to dolphins and whales to shrimp and plankton to tuna and turtles. Scientists and reporters are helping us to understand this crisis, and the government and BP are trying to fix it. But the reality is crystal-clear that this never, ever should have happened.

Two of my seniors gave a presentation this week on solar and wind energy. They constructed their own wind turbine using a bicycle wheel, duct tape, an old car jack, a car belt, scrap wood and a ’61 Ford generator. As wind blew on the turbine, the voltmeter displayed energy, created solely by air.

It’s the same air that lifted those hits off of Chris Tillman last night. But it’s clean and crisp and free, and the only thing it does to turtles and pelicans is fill their lungs. We bounce back from disasters by making changes. The sun and the wind are here, ready to provide for us. It’s time to change our approach to energy, because this kind of mistake needs a game-changer.

Tasty Like Swedish Fish (One Sixty-Two: Day 32)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day Thirty-Two: Adam Jones, Baltimore Orioles

Katie was daring tonight: She ordered the Swedish Fish-flavored ice at Rita’s Ices. The Rita’s store in the town where I work had offered to donate a portion of tonight’s proceeds to my school’s community service club. So we knew we’d be eating ice tonight, and talking with folks from around town about our great club. What we didn’t know was that we’d be trying some candy-flavored Italian ice.

And, wouldn’t you know it, the red ice tasted just like the deeply sugary, strawberry-flavored candy that bends like rubber and looks like a fish. After sampling Katie’s, I couldn’t help myself – I decided that just for tonight, I too would experience the ice-cold taste of Swedish Fish. By the time I had finished, I felt satisfied but ready for some peach or mango ice next time. It reminded me of the time my brother and I saw corn ice cream in a dessert shop in Manhattan. Indeed, it was yellow and tasted like corn. And really, what sugary item does not have corn in it? But the sample was enough.

Some things are best experienced for one time only. For Orioles center fielder Adam Jones, Saturday’s inside-the-park home run in Washington was surely a real treat. But if Jones were given the choice of taking a slower jog around the bases next time, I’m sure he’d go for it. But as Washington Nationals centerfielder Nyjer Morgan dropped Jones’ fly ball Saturday, then inexplicably threw his glove in disgust, Jones had an opening, and he flew around those bases faster than any Swedish Fish could swim. He slid in safely, and claimed for himself something that is now a rare feat.

In days gone by, when stadiums were cavernous, inside-the-park homers were much more common. But today, with teams playing in little bandboxes, most home-run balls land well beyond the outfield fence. Every once in awhile, though, you get a little reminder of just how exciting this play can be.

But for the hitter/runner, it’s also a bit exhausting. Back in the dugout, Adam Jones surely needed some hydration. I would offer, but I think the Swedish Fish ice is best suited for the postgame meal.

Handing Out Stars

I’ve been reading Barack Obama’s The Audacity of Hope lately. I’ve been watching some of his speeches as well. As a voter, I’m looking for a leader who strives for unity – between individuals, between cultures, and between groups of every kind. I like what I see from the senator, and I’ve found the audacity to hope he might actually win.

When I watch and read about pro sports, I don’t see nearly as much unity as I’d like to see from a profession that has so often prided itself on teamwork. I keep seeing fights between teams and even between players on the same team. I keep reading about athletes who are unhappy with eight-figure salaries. I read of relationships between Hall of Fame players and their teams disintegrating over nonsense.

It’s with this in mind that I’ve been thinking about the 1979 Pirates lately. Before they were a team that refused to keep their good players, the Pirates were a powerhouse. Nearly a decade after the death of Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell led Pittsburgh to a ’79 World Series matchup with Earl Weaver’s mighty Baltimore Orioles. The Pirates had taken America by storm that year, as first baseman Stargell awarded stars to his teammates when they made a good play or had a good game, and the players placed these stars on their caps as if the stars were Cub Scout badges. The team also proclaimed Sister Sledge’s hit song “We Are Family” to be their anthem. This ballclub’s unity paid off well in the end, as the Pirates were able to keep their composure and rebound from a 3 games to 1 World Series deficit to win the World Series. Stargell and company were smiling the whole time, and they helped buoy a country galvanized by recession, terrorism and an energy crisis.

As the America of 2008 faces such similar challenges today, I look for signs of hope and unity. I hear Barack Obama, and I listen closely. I feel inspired. When I look over to the baseball field, I crave the sight of more selfless dedication to team on the diamond. I wait for someone to step forward, turn on some late-‘70s disco music and start handing out stars. Mr. Jeter, Mr. Varitek, Mr. Rollins, Mr. Pujols – what do you think? It’s worth a try. It’s a change I can believe in.