Guy Ciarrocchi: ‘Baseball reminds us of all that was once good, and could be good again.’
If you grew up playing, watching or coaching baseball (or softball), a trip to Phillies camp in Clearwater does genuinely have you asking the Field of Dreams question: “Is this heaven?”
Phantasy Camp is about playing and talking baseball, of course. But it’s about much more. It’s about the bonding. It’s a reminder — a beacon of hope — that there are things in society that draw us together. We do have much in common — memories, emotions, and relatable stories. In a culture of division and a constant barrage of information, sound bites and images that viciously — even understandably — pull us apart, there are still events, shared experiences and people that bring us together.
Every camper fully understands George Will’s commentary:“Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona.”
Campers are men and women from minimum age 30 (a teammate tried to comfort us by saying he’s almost 31) to 80-plus. Among us you’ll find retired military, fudge-makers, musicians, judges, salesmen, small business owners, police officers, retirees, coaches — and even a political commentator. Many play in various leagues — from 35-plus to 65-plus. Some haven’t touched a bat since their teens. Some spend time playing (or coaching) softball.
The love of baseball binds us together. Playing. Watching. Talking about it. The teammates we had. Players we’ve coached. Stars we admired.
As an aspiring baseball player, whose “career” ended when a coach pointed out that (sort of) 5-foot-8, right-handed, singles-hitting players don’t have careers as first basemen, who’s been blessed to see games at Connie Mack, The Vet and The Bank, and who turned that love of the game into three decades of coaching baseball and softball (27 and counting), I got emotional standing on the Carpenter Complex fields, where Bowa, Kruk and Hamels played — and now coach “campers” like me. And, yes, where Harper works to become “elite.”
Being blessed to come back for a second time with my squad — “Team Lefty” (if you have to ask why the name, well…), what actually struck me was James Earl Jones’s line in Field of Dreams that baseball does remind many of us “of all that was once good — and could be good again.”
Sports transcends so much of life, and of society. Baseball even more so because it has existed for so long, played by so many, and because we can all debate statistics — be they old-school like the “value” of runs scored, or new-school — does “WAR” matter more than the eye test? Campers can all relate to the Seinfeld quote: “I could read the sports page if my hair was on fire.”
There are campers who are great ballplayers, be they 30 or 70. They glide effortlessly, instinctively to field balls. Some can hit the ball nearly 400 feet. And there are pitchers in their 60’s throwing sliders. Others, well…they’re just as much to be admired. They wear leg braces. They need pinch-runners. They smile going hitless in camp. They have to go to the training room twice a day. Others of us fall in between.
All so we can play the game we love.
But campers soon learn that they’re really there for the camaraderie. They willingly share time at favorite positions, or sit out an inning so a teammate can play. They offer advice and support to one another — be it a fist pump, a bro-hug, or Advil.
That bond is built faster than a Matt Stairs home run leaving Dodgers stadium. (One of my coaches. The other is Aaron Rowand — it’s why I know to give 110 percent for every fly ball to the outfield.)
The Legend coaches are fantastic, offering instruction, support and war stories — and off-color jokes. When Charlie Manuel talks about hitting, it’s like Stephen Hawking discussing physics: pull up a chair and listen. They chat with us for hours, take thousands of selfies — signing almost as many autographs. They share that bond.
Campers prepare biographies before we meet. I listed mine — but added “camp is not about politics, it’s about baseball.” Why? Because I mean it. Yes, some had seen my postings. Some who share my views offered kind compliments, which I deeply appreciated — and immediately changed the subject. I’ve had one — very civil — political conversation over two camps.
One Legend tracked me down and bro-hugged me because of my commentary. Conversely, I said goodbye with a bro-hug to another Legend — whom I cheered for when he was a player, and now respect as one of the dozens of terrific Legend-coaches — with absolutely zero regard to a prior matter-of-fact (very brief and dispassionate) negative comment about Trump.
Why? Because baseball.
“Phil” in “City Slickers” speaks for so many campers: “When I was about eighteen and my dad and I couldn’t communicate about anything at all, we could still talk about baseball.”
It’s why my dad took me to Connie Mack and my Uncle Jack (“Reds”) who worked there got me to meet Tony Taylor. It’s why I took our oldest (my daughter who coaches softball with me) to The Bank when she was 5 1/2. And why our whole family went to watch the Phillies at Dodgers Stadium during our vacation to LA.
Sorry, “Jimmy Dugan” was wrong. Sometimes, there is crying in baseball.
Guy Ciarrocchi writes for Broad + Liberty and RealClear Pennsylvania, and is a Senior Fellow with the Commonwealth Foundation. And, God willing, next January he’ll be wearing the “powder blues” in Clearwater. Follow Guy at @PaSuburbsGuy.
