April 07, 2003

WARTIME BASEBALL

"The game has a cleanness. If you do a good job, the numbers say so. You don't have to ask anyone or play politics. You don't have to wait for the reviews."
-- Sandy Koufax

"If I were playing third base and my mother were rounding third with the run that was going to beat us, I'd trip her. Oh, I'd pick her up and brush her off and say, 'Sorry Mom, but nobody beats me."
-- Leo Durocher

"Since baseball time is measured only in outs, all you have to do is succeed utterly; keep hitting, keep the rally alive, and you have defeated time. You remain forever young."
--Roger Angell

        Today is Opening Day of the baseball season at Yankee Stadium--or it was supposed to be. Thanks to a swirling snow storm I feel like Hall of Fame Shortstop Honus Wagner who said, when asked what he did in the off season: "I stare out the window and wait until spring."
        This is a wartime Opening Day and it stirred memories of the days when I first became a baseball fan. "Fan" is short for fanatic--and I became one during the second World War. My attachment was to the Yankees, the team, long before I became what I am now, a lover of the game. The Yankees in those days, though, were not the Yankees of legend. Most of the great stars had gone off to war. No DiMaggios among those who remained. Instead, more typical was Oscar Grimes, a third baseman who seemed to make at least one error per game. I came to love the players of legend while rooting for the hapless contemporary bumblers. It's how I learned the truth of Dr. Johnson's observation that "Hope is a species of happiness."
        The unknown past was far more glorious than the mundane present. I could only hope for future glories. I read about the great players--Ruth, Gehrig, Dickey, Lefty Gomez--and above all, the peerless exemplar, the great Joe DiMaggio. I yearned for the end of the war when that greatness would return, and was certain that if I targeted my toy bombardier sight on Tokyo I could bring that day closer. In my mind, the war against Hitler and Tojo was a war to protect and preserve the American way of life, i.e. the game of baseball. Was my childhood conflation of America and baseball silly? Perhaps. Certainly it was an oversimplification. However, one suspects that should the ayatollahs, Osamas, Saddams and assorted Islamo-Nazis have their way, we can anticipate baseball will be quickly forbidden as a creation of godless American infidels. Baseball, as Jacques Barzun pointed out,("Whoever wants to know the heart and mind of America had better learn baseball, the rules and realities of the game.") is the quintessence of America. The most beautiful game ever invented embodies the best of American values and beliefs--individual initiative, competition and skill, blended with teamwork,and open to innovative and creative intelligence. Once again, as the season begins, we are at war, but unlike World War II, major league baseball players are not entering military service. In World War II major league baseball was played, but close to 90% of major leaguers, more than 1100, served and were unavailable. That was a time when athletes would have been ashamed not to serve. In 1945,the GI's World Series in Europe took place before 50,000 servicemen in a stadium in Nuremberg, Germany, one formerly used for huge Hitler rallies. Former National League pitcher Sam Nahem, supported by Negro League star Leon Day, led the Overseas Invasion Service Expedition (OISE) all-stars to a thrilling five-game victory against the mighty 71st Infantry Division. The level of play was probably higher than in the Cubs-Tigers world series back home.
        The next season many of the pre-war stars, like DiMaggio, Ted Williams and Hank Greenberg returned. Many had lost their skills and even DiMaggio, never returned to the skill level he reached in the 1941 season. By the time I saw him play for the first time in 1946 he was a good player who flashed moments of superb clutch play, great moments, but fell short of his sustained pre-war greatness. Some pre-war stars like the Senators' speedster, shortstop Cecil Travis, suffered frozen feet in the Battle of the Bulge and never matched his pre-war effectiveness; Skippy Roberge, a Braves infielder, suffered wounds in Germany that hampered his post-war career; Lou Thuman, a Senators pitcher, suffered wounds that ended his playing days; and Athletics pitcher, Phil Marchildon, who was shot down over Germany and spent one year as a POW, struggled with shattered nerves to regain his effectiveness. They at least made it back; a number of players were killed in action while serving in Europe. Elmer Gedeon, who played the outfield for Washington in five games in 1939, was killed when the B-26 Martin Marauder he was piloting was hit by flak. Minor leaguers killed in action in Europe included Ardys Keller who caught for Toledo; Bill Sarver, a centerfielder with Augusta; Lefty Brewer, a pitcher with Charlotte; Elmer Wright, who pitched for San Antonio; and Ordway Cisgen a pitcher with Utica.
        After the war came the glory days of Casey Stengel's Yankees, but I retain a special place in my affections for the hapless losers of my wartime childhood. They made me aware of the greatness of America and the greatness of the game that transcends even the individual players. It made me conscious of why our soldiers were willing to fight and die in far off lands. It was clear again when I stood in the left field stands and cheered President Bush as he threw out the first ball in the playoffs post 9-11, 2001. As Phillip Roth wrote, baseball "made me understand what patriotism was at its best". Other games may have surpassed baseball in popularity, games like basketball, time-constrained and more suited to a frantic TV schedule. However, I've noticed when our current generation of heroic soldiers are asked about the war, they grin and say things like "we're in the late innings and we're going to win".
Play Ball!

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