In Life and Baseball, Hope Springs Eternal

The parallels are always apparent...

Image credit: Roberto Carlo

A new season. It’s like a perennial rebirth. One more chance to string together some wins and make a run. This time of year is special to each and every one of us with roots dug into this beautiful game. If you know, you know.

Whether it’s just the excitement of embarking on this journey once again or something deeper, it’s there. It’s tangible. You can feel it. I’m no different. And, as we’ve talked about a few times in the past, the parallels between baseball and life just have a way of making themselves apparent sometimes.

April 6, 2006. Opening Day, sixteen years ago. Just like in 2022, expectations and fan sentiment in Flushing are peaking. David Wright, Jose Reyes, Pedro Martinez, Carlos Beltrán, Carlos Delgado, Paul Lo Duca, Cliff Floyd, Xavier Nady, El Duque Orlando Hernandez (!!!) — quite the assembled bunch.

Me? I’m lost. Lost as a person, lost as a soul. Clinging to what you and I know as life by dirty fingertips. Addiction is a [redacted]. That really does sum it up.

Anyway, despite the best efforts of anyone who meant anything to me and whatever conscience I had left banging around upstairs, I was hopelessly entrenched in a lifestyle I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Then, uncannily on cue, the New York freaking Mets change my life.

I wake up on Opening Day and I’m torn. My brain and body need drugs. My heart needs baseball. So, for the first time in what felt like years, I made a smart decision. It must have been the ageless jolt of hope that comes with a new 162 on the board. Intoxicating, isn’t it?

Plus, as I’ve learned over my almost 39 years, I tend to go with the ticker more often than not. Sometimes to my detriment. Let’s continue, shall we?

So off we went. Me on a slow walk toward redemption, and the Mets flooring it for a zero-to-100 dash to glory.

They didn’t quite reach the promised land with that group, falling just short in 2006, falling apart at the end of 2007, and then forgetting to shut off the lights before moving out of Shea in 2008. But hey, we all keep coming back for more, don’t we?

My season is still going. And somehow, by the grace of Ralph Kiner, I’m still within striking distance. There have been too many ups and downs to count throughout my recovery. Unexpected losses, nasty funks, and even — once in a very brief while — a winning streak or two.

Errors will happen, as will tough defeats. But it’s more about how you respond to them than it is about the setbacks themselves.

Learn from the mistakes, dust yourself off, and get back in the box. All you can do is keep playing your game, hope for a break or two, and try and make the most of the opportunities when they come your way. Onward.

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