The Sacred Narrative of Baseball

About a month ago, Lisa and I made the switch to Directv as our cable provider. As part of that switch, we acquired the MLB Network as part of our channel lineup. The MLB Network is, in a word, heaven on a television screen. It provides baseball programming 24/7/365. As a huge baseball fan, I have enjoyed the new opportunities that exist for my viewing pleasure, including but not limited to:

- Prime 9: A countdown show listing the top 9 of a particular subject - catchers, characters of the game, pitching seasons, clutch hitters, etc.

- World Series highlights: so far, I've only watched the Pirates' colossal upset of the Yankees in the 1960 Series, capped off by Maz's walk-off home run in game 7.

- Studio 42 with Bob Costas: A diminuitive baseball fan who also happens to be a respected TV journalist sitting down with legends of the game and asking them to reminisce.

But more than anything, I've come to adore the network's airing of classic MLB games, ones that stand out as historic moments in America's National Pastime. The Pine Tar Game with George Brett and Billy Martin. The Carlton Fisk Game: Game 6 of the 1975 World Series. And currently, through the wonders of DVR, I'm slowly making my way through Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, where an aging Jack Morris faces a young John Smoltz in a pitching duel for the ages.

I know how this game ends. After Jack Morris pours his heart and soul into 10 innings of shutout ball, besting Smoltz's 8 shutout innings, the Twins finally push across a run with a pinch hit fly ball single by Gene Larkin, thus winning 1-0 and becoming world champions. I vaguely remember this scintillating World Series from my childhood, and now I am re-living it thanks to MLB Network. But why, you may ask, am I watching a game that was played 18 years ago, a game that has no element of surprise left, one that I know how it ends?

I watch it for the same reason I read stories in scripture time and time again. Historic baseball games, while memorable games standing by themselves, remind me that each game is part of a larger narrative, the sacred narrative of baseball. Game 7 of the 1991 Series is a great pitcher's duel, but it also signifies a moment cut out of the long story of baseball history, a story much longer and larger than the career of any man who has ever played the game.

In this particular game, we see a young Braves team, led this night by some kid named John Smoltz, a man who today in 2010 is perhaps at the end of a hall-of-fame career. The Braves here are a team on the rise, one that loses here in 1991 but will be back to the playoffs every non-strike-shortened season from this point through 2005. Brian Hunter looks like a middle schooler in this game. Chipper and Andruw have yet to arrive in the "Show." Even Bobby Cox looks much younger and leaner. Yet, Leo Mazzone sits next to him on the bench, rocking back and forth like always.

In the other dugout is the Twins, and they too are symbolized by their starting pitcher. Jack Morris is, in 1991, at the twilight of a very good career, one defined by tenacity, competitiveness, and an unwillingness to give in, even to manager Tom Kelly as he tries to remove him from this final game of the season. The Twins enjoyed success in the late 80's and early 90's, led by Kent Hrbek and Kirby Puckett. But as seen by the makeup of the 1991 team, a youth movement is beginning: Chuck Knoblauch at 2nd, Chili Davis at DH, and Scott Erickson emerging as a force in the rotation.

In this seventh game of the 1991 World Series, clearly the focus is on the starting pitchers. But on the edges, subplots catch my eye, moments that remind me how this one piece of baseball history is delicately woven into the sacred tapestry of baseball's history. It is for this reason that I enjoy watching classic games like this one. As a student of the game, through these memorable moments I begin to understand the larger narrative more fully. It is much like reading the book of Job as its own piece of literature, and then reflecting on how it fits into the larger narrative of humanity's relationship with the divine, or reading the stories of Jesus' birth as great stories of origins, and recognizing how it weaves together Old and New Testament texts almost seamlessly.

Above all, both scripture and classic baseball games remind me that we are all in the process of discovering our place in the narrative of humanity and its relationship with the divine. We seek and discern our call within the narrative, recognizing that we may not fully realize our role until our labors are a distant memory. But we dig into the batter's box nonetheless, anticipating the known yet unknown - we know there will be a pitch, but we know not what form that pitch will take. We swing the bat with all our might, hoping to make a connection - perhaps even one that will deliver us home for a celebration that will live on forever. And we circle the bases of life, wondering why we are here on this night, performing this task, and how it advances this over-arching story that envelops us all.