Clergy Family Confidential

Big night at Law Park last week. The boys’ baseball team had their first game of the season. Squire’s (their team named for a popular burger joint in town) beat Briarcliff Seafood 15-3. They were thrilled. I was just thrilled that neither one struck out in their first at bat of the season. Zack was particularly nervous about this and it might have set the tone for the rest of the season. It certainly would have had a negative effect on bedtime. I can’t say I “prayed” for a base hit but this is the first year they record strike outs which adds a new element of danger to the whole affair. It is coach pitch so there’s no real chance of getting beaned with some high heat.

But they both played well and connected on each of their five at bats. I considered it a success from my end since at no point during the game did I run out onto the field to add my coaching two cents. It was very tempting — “Square up, choke up, back off the plate, step into the pitch.” But I don’t want to get a reputation around town so I let the coaches coach. We’ll continue to work on some things in the backyard and I’ll try not to live out my failed professional athletic dreams vicariously through my children. There’s enough of that in this town.

The best part of the whole affair was the opposing team’s hats. The aqua-colored lids were emblazoned with a big “BS” (for Briarcliff Seafood). I need one of those.

Took a tour of Safeco Field in Seattle last night with about 20 fellow Episcopal Communicators. It was arranged by a retired priest whose wife is the Suffragan Bishop of the Diocese of Olympia. Part of what he does in his retirement — besides going to a slew of church events with his spouse — is to serve as a tour guide at the ballpark. What a great gig! Sign me up — when does the Pension Fund kick in?

Safeco is pretty impressive — and with a $520 million price tag it should be. Built in 1999, it was the most expensive sports arena ever built. It will soon lose this distinction to the new Yankee Stadium that’s currently under construction — the House that George Built. Safeco has a fully retractable roof and has aged beautifully. Too bad they house the Mariners.

There’s something amazing about being the only ones inside a 47,000 seat stadium. Slightly eerie but I walked around a bit giddy the whole time. Being in a major league ballpark that stirs my soul — what can I say? I realize no team’s going to offer me a contract at this point — I’m not that delusional. It just feels as if you’re part of something exciting, something larger than yourself. It’s like being inside a giant European cathedral in that sense.

In my next life I hope to come back as a professional baseball player. For the Orioles of course. Oh wait, I don’t believe in reincarnation. I guess it’s just as well. Something would probably get screwed up in translation and I’d end up prancing around as the Phillie Phanatic.

Baseball season starts today. Oh, not the major leagues — the Orioles have already lost their first game and are well on their way to an 11th consecutive losing season. But Ben and Zack have their first little league practice tonight. They’re on the same team this year, much to Ben’s annoyance. And I’m not sure why a third grader got put on a team with mostly first and second graders. But that’s Briarcliff baseball for you. Try and ask questions of the powers-that-be and you encounter Kremlin-like secrecy. 

Some of these guys think they’re GM’s for pro teams. They have tryouts and drafts. I wouldn’t be surprised if the boys were subjected to a random drug test at some point during the season. If either one of them ends up linked to BALCO in Jose Canseco’s new book, we’ll have to switch back to soccer.

But this doesn’t diminish the boys’ excitement. They’ve been asking all week, “Is it Wednesday yet?” And to prepare we’ve spent a small fortune this week on baseball cleats, a new glove for Zack, baseball pants, and socks. They’re also thrilled that their new team is sponsored by Squire’s, their favorite burger joint in town.

 Play ball!

Baseball’s back. And there’s joy in Mudville or at least Japan. Today is Opening Day – the Red Sox and A’s played the season’s first game at the Tokyo Dome. And, boy, was it bizarre to be watching a Major League Baseball game at 8:00 am while on the StairMaster at the gym. That’s what a 13-hour time difference will do for you. Of course, it won’t really feel like baseball season for me until the Orioles open their season against Tampa Bay on March 31st.

I can’t remember the last time Opening Day took place during Eastertide. Come to think of it why, exactly, didn’t I go down to Florida for Spring Training during my sabbatical? Doh! Next time.

Bryna and my 13th anniversary is also today so there’s a great confluence of joy. It beats last year when it fell on Good Friday (we transferred it to the following week — the anniversary celebration, not Good Friday). I wonder what the gift is supposed to be for 13 years. Papier-mache? Styrofoam? Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.

My favorite baseball name this year? Mets left fielder Angel Pagan. Gotta love that yin/yang thing.

Amid the doldrums of mid-Lent, hope is on the horizon. Yes, there’s the “sure and certain hope” of the resurrection. We’re Christians; we get that. Easter will arrive and we’ll be bathed anew in the warm glow of new life.

But hope abounds on this day because the Baltimore Orioles play their first spring training game. Sure, they haven’t had a winning season in a decade. And, no, they haven’t won the World Series in 25 years. But like the Phoenix, this year they will rise from the ashes. Or maybe next year. Or eventually. I hope.

Being a devoted fan of a lousy baseball team builds character. Though at this point I think I’m way beyond my character quota. Of course I don’t have anything on Cubs fans — that’s a real cross to bear. I’m bearing more of a “cross-ette” (that’s French for ”little cross” — okay, I made that up but you get the point).

Nonetheless, it’s an exciting day and I think this really will be their year. Fortunately I’m not a gambling man.  

I watched some of the Congressional hearings on steroids yesterday while I was on the treadmill at the gym. (As I look over this last sentence I should clarify that I myself wasn’t on steroids). I resent the fact that I have to explain to my boys why one of their favorite pitchers is accused of using performance enhancing drugs. As an Orioles fan I also resent the fact that he’s one of their favorite players, but that’s another story, and a hazard of living in New York.

I can’t say watching a Congressional hearing while running was very motivational. It didn’t exactly pump me up (no pun intended). And it does seem silly that the government is involved at all.

I just finished reading New York Times sports columnist Ira Berkow’s book “Full Swing” — basically an autobiography. He’s been covering sports personalities since the mid-1960’s and saw the same post-Watergate skepticism infiltrate the sports world. Suddenly our sports heroes were shown as real people rather than perfect ideals and role models. There’s a sense of flawed humanity that becomes revealed in the process. From a theological point of view this makes sense — we’re all redeemed sinners. From a child’s perspective it’s disillusioning.

Of course this all makes me wonder what performance enhancing drugs for clergy might look like. And don’t tell me it’s the Holy Spirit. I’m talking about the clerical equivalent of human growth hormone. Would you take something if a quick shot in the sacristy made you a better preacher, more compassionate, or a crack administrator?

I don’t know. But if I’m ever called to testify before Congress, I’ll swear the only performance enhancing drug I’ve ever used is Advil.

All this steroid talk following the release of Major League Baseball’s Mitchell Report reminds me of our family’s brush with ‘roid rage. This fall, Ben came down with croup. Now I always thought croup was just for infants. We certainly had our share of late night runs to the ER for croup, ear infections, first-time parent paranoia, etc. But evidently 8-year-olds can also get it. And the accompanying cough is horrible. When Ben would get going, he sounded like a hacking, chain-smoking octogenarian.

So off we trudged to the doctor. Well, Bryna did. And when I came home from church that evening, Ben looked at me and said with great gravity, “Dad, I have something in common with Barry Bonds.” “Oh yeah, what’s that?” “We both take steroids.” Turns out the standard treatment is a non-anabolic steroid. Fortunately our pediatrician noticed Ben’s concern and eloquently described the difference between “good” steroids and “bad” steroids. Another crisis averted.