As I write this, the Air Quality Index (AQI) is 15. This is good, very good. Lately I’ve become quite well versed in the parameters of the AQI. Anything below 50 is good, smooth sailing, no problem, might as well be sitting on the beach in Maui. Between 50-100 we’re still in good shape but better be vigilant. Once we start getting into the mid to upper 100’s, well now we’ve got problems. A few days ago the AQI in my town was 220! In Oregon, the latest front in the climate fires currently raging out west, my friends there are choking on air with an AQI of 450 and higher! That’s equivalent to sticking your head into the top of a smoking chimney.
The perfect storm of Covid, wildfires and toxic air have me now more than ever appreciating one of the simplest, most basic pleasures in life: breathing clean air. Freak lightning storms in August sparked numerous horrific wildfires in California and Oregon. I don’t think I need to recap the news for you. As a result of these fires the air here has been basically unbreathable for over a month. That’s why today feels so good.
The gentle breeze moving across my back deck creates a wind chime symphony, clearing out the smoke and purifying the air. What’s that huge patch of blue up there between the eucalyptus trees? Oh right, that’s the sky. After experiencing Apocalypse Orange and Nuclear Winter Grey, I much prefer the Robin’s Egg Blue that I’m currently looking at. And the air! I fill my lungs. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the mouth… I better be careful or I may hyperventilate! I walk around my yard and smell my neighbor’s barbecue, freshly mown grass, the tomato plants in our garden, night blooming jasmine. I’m so grateful for one thing that I don’t smell, smoke! When is the last time I breathed air this clean? The breeze feels so damn good! I can breathe! Thank goodness I can breathe!
It was another lifetime ago. Actually it was just six months ago. Spring training was in full swing. Me, my son and our baseball pals were already making plans to buy tickets for upcoming games at Oracle Park in San Francisco. Another season with our beloved Giants was on the horizon and we could hardly wait to get out to the yard and root our team on. Well, you know the rest of this story.
Of all the aspects of life that have been disrupted since Covid-19 has had us in its grip, the cessation of sports has been particularly difficult to come to terms with. Sports is such an integral part of the fabric of American life, a focal point of civic pride and an opportunity for people and communities of all types to come together to laugh and cry, cheer and jeer. The loss of sports has left a gaping hole in our collective hearts. From the mightiest MLB slugger to the littlest t-baller, baseball players and baseball diamonds have gone silent. Think about this: Little League was cancelled this year! Of course the entire sports world has been upended by Covid, but since baseball is so near and dear to my heart, that’s what I’m writing about.
Baseball is the source of my earliest and most vivid sports memory. It was Father’s Day 1965. I was 8 1/2 years old and on my way to see my first major league baseball game. My mom packed the lunches, kissed us goodbye and loaded me, my older brother Ray and my dad into our ’64 Dodge Rambler. We were on our way to The House That Ruth Built: Yankee Stadium.
My dad has always been a sports fanatic. Sports is the way that he and I connect. As a kid I spent countless hours watching games on tv with my dad. Baseball was and still is my favorite sport. Back when I was a kid, the Yankees were my favorite team and my hero was Yankee icon and Hall of Famer Mickey Mantle. The Mick was in the twilight off his career on that Father’s Day and it turned out to be the first and only time I would ever see him play. Mantle retired three years later at the end of the 1968 season.
When we got to the gates, the usher took our tickets. As we walked through the turnstiles, Ray and I each received a genuine wooden baseball bat with a Yankee signature on the barrel. Mine was signed by third baseman Clete Boyer. This was the first ever giveaway day at The Stadium and the place was packed with a record 71,245 fans! Our seats were in the upper deck in left field so we had to walk up several steep concrete ramps to get there. The sight that greeted me was simply breathtaking. What I remember most about that moment was the color of the grass. It was the greenest green that I had ever seen. It was all of the Saint Patrick’s Days that had ever been, rolled into one. Like the names given to those endless shades of colors at the paint store, this green needed its own unique name: Baseball Green.
I’m in there somewhere.
We settled into our seats and I tried to take it all in. This was the most people that I had ever seen in one place. The field and the stadium itself were larger than life. I had no prior experience to compare this to. Yankee Stadium was more awe inspiring than I could have imagined. It was like the Grand Canyon, only made by humans. The starting lineups were introduced by legendary announcer Bob Sheppard. His sonorous voice boomed over the PA system like the voice of God: “Batting third and playing first base, numbah seven MICKEY MANTLE!” The roar that greeted The Mick’s name was deafening. There were hits and runs scored. One of the opposing players hit a home run into our section in the upper deck. It was so hot, the concessions ran out of soda.
Miraculously, Major League Baseball has managed to salvage this season, so all has not been lost. The fans have been replaced by cardboard cut-outs, the roar of the crowd is pre-recorded and piped in through the stadium PA system. There are a couple of temporary new rules, more akin to Little League than MLB, and the shortened 60 game season is already more than halfway through. But I’ll take it. Whether you’re a fan or not, the fact that major leaguers are playing baseball right now on those impossibly green fields is a glimmer of hope that we can all hang onto.
