2010 was the year I discovered baseball.
Sure, I’d sat through plenty of my cousins’ little league games when I was a kid, but I never actually watched the game. I watched the people in the stands. I listened to my aunt’s conversations with all the other mothers. I took my youngest cousin to the concession stand to get snowcones. Anything to keep from having to sit there and watch what I considered the most boring game on earth.
That’s what I’d always thought about baseball. Until this past August.
A head injury caused me to not be able to do much of anything except watch television – only I couldn’t watch very much. And as much as I wanted to watch football – it was too fast.
And then one day, flipping through channels, I discovered baseball.
I remember finding a sense of contentment watching that game that I hadn’t felt since I hit my head. I could mute the sound and still follow it. Everything about it was calm. I was an instant fan and no one was more thrilled when the Rangers made it to the World Series!
I was wrong about baseball. Yeah, it’s slow but there’s something very dignified about it, even with all the scratching and spitting. I’d always secretly admired the tradition of the game, but I just never allowed myself to slow down enough to get into it. Because it’s not cool to slow down.
Maybe my new respect for baseball reflects a broader change in my life. I hope it means that I’m realizing the importance of slowing down and not always being in a hurry. Of taking time to be still. To spend lots of time talking to God. Telling him everything I think. ‘Til I finally get to the place where I’m curious as to what he thinks. And then I start to listen.
I’ve been living in a three second world where I couldn’t just stand still on the escalator and wait for it to move me up or down. The only way to get more was to move faster. And after awhile, living like that does something to you, you know?
I’m looking forward to eating a hotdog with my friends who always attend opening day at the Ballpark in Arlington this spring. Maybe it’ll taste almost as good as those snowcones did with my cousin. Maybe I’ll actually watch the game.