We each learn life's hard lessons in our own way. As Briggs has slung and batted his way through his second season of baseball I have been able to watch as he learned about more than a good throw or how to keep his shoulders straight in his batting stance. I've watch him wend his way through the facts of life as revealed in baseball in the same way that
John Buchanan has written about in Christian Century and
Frank Deford has talked about on NPR lo these many years.
As a musician I learned these things in the rehearsal room, on the marching field, on the band bus and on the stage and chancel. How a single missed note can screw the whole piece up (or not). How dependent we are on the success of others. How something as fickle as a broken valve string on a French horn can sink one's best efforts. How important it is to use finger three instead of four in that horrible passage in Buxtehude. Briggs has been sorting through the same things on the ball field and in our yard this spring and summer.
It dawned on me early this spring when I realized how much time Briggs was spending outside with his glove on and his hat spun backwards. He'd avoid homework to swing at his batting target. He cracked more than a few pieces of siding throwing tennis balls at the side of the barn. It his me hardest, though, when, after a game he would come home and not collapse on the sofa, but go outside and throw, hit and simply run to calm himself down. He had discovered his way to "decompress," and it was through ball.
Reading John Buchanan and listening to Frank Deford, I have been able to grasp the message of what they spoke about even though the metaphors they used and the backdrop for their reflections was a sport mostly alien to me. They talked about the ups and downs of ball. John especially talked about rooting for a perennially losing team, the Chicago Cubs. Frank was especially keen on the poetry of the sport. But what came through the, somewhat foreign to me, language, were eternal truths involving perseverance, faith, hope and love, grace, honor and justice.
Briggs' team did well through the early part of the season, not losing a game in their first 9 or so. Then came a couple of back to back losses that were disheartening. The Black Mountain Braves (ages 7-8) rallied somewhat late in their season. Briggs had a pretty good season personally, much improved in both catching and hitting. He spent most of his time as catcher. He's been buoyed by his coaches, and cheered on by the parents of all the team players. As the season closed his coaches were selected to lead the All-Star team for our district, and they selected him to be on that special team. He's been in left field and at second base this week. After a trio of practices last weekend they have been deep into games this week (4 in five nights). As of this writing they have lost 3 of 3. Briggs has maintained a pretty good attitude. Last night as we drove home way part his bedtime, he carped about the umpire and bad calls. And I could hear in his voice just a twinge of angst that everything had not gone according to his plan, and how he was wrestling with putting it into perspective. I was able to help him a bit, but short of musical and ecclesiological language, was not that big a help (his mom is better at talking the talk than I). Though he went straight to bed when we got home last night, he was back in the yard today, getting ready for tonight's game, somewhat, but I'm sure sorting through life's little mysteries as they are revealed and left dangling in a ball and bat and glove and a game of baseball.
