Since we exiled TV from our house, there have been only two things that I have sorely missed. One is March Madness. The other is baseball. I grew up near Cincinnati in the era of the Big Red Machine. My heroes back then were Cesar Geronimo, Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench, and of course, Pete Rose, aka Charlie Hustle. And despite what the snow outside of my house would indicate, today is Opening Day for MLB!
Years ago, I even called in sick to work to sit in the cheap seats at Riverfront Stadium to see the Reds home opener. I lost a day’s pay and regret nothing. To this day, when my wife and I are at our favorite brew pub, she will often notice that my attention has drifted away from the conversation to the big screens because there is a ball game on. I even made her stay through one more beer once because I got distracted by the Pirates game and had to see the end. And I’m not even a Pirates fan.
Today may be Opening Day, but the Colorado Rockies have their home opener on April 6. The City of Denver suddenly noticed that it had a homeless problem, and as Fox News notes, it is getting rid of the homeless population around Coors Field like a kid shoving dirty clothes under the bed because he hears his mom coming up the stairs.
Larimer Street in particular is being “cleaned up.” Local homeless advocate Grant Francis told Denver’s Channel 7, “It’s disgraceful, and they’re not trying to solve the problem. They’re just trying to provide some optics that make it look like they’re trying to do something. It doesn’t surprise me that Coors Field is one of the targets. It’s anywhere where there’s an event that generates any kind of income for the city.”
Another activist, Amy Beck said, “The approach to the homeless situation currently, by the current administration, is an absolute failure. I provide food, water, and warmth to folks, which is what they need to stay alive. And last year, there was a protest the day of Opening Day,”
Denver Mayor Michael Hancock, a Democrat, has caught some fire for the “sweeps” since his administration has been criticized for normally being absent when it comes to homeless issues. The activists want the sweeps to stop and for the people in the camps to receive food, water, garbage removal, and bathrooms. Fox reported:
A 2021 report estimated the city of Denver spent between $41,679 and $104,201 per homeless person per year. But activists believe the city should increase housing availability for those on the streets and provide more services like trash pickup to camps in the meantime.
One person told Channel 7, “I’m from the Atlanta area. Atlanta, New York — the homeless population is crazy there. People are sleeping on streets and under bridges. It’s far worse than here.”
That’s all well and good, and it is noble and, I think, necessary to assist those in need. But what about the impact on others who live in Denver? What challenges have the camps created for public safety and health? And what is to be done with those who cannot care for themselves or refuse to better their lives? What about those who are a danger not only to others but themselves? Increasing services may help the immediate situation, but will that create actual beneficial results for the homeless and the other people of Denver?
One only needs to look at the way the homeless scenarios have unfolded in San Francisco, Portland, New York, and other cities across the nation to see that there needs to be a new approach to how homelessness is addressed. The outgoing Mayor Hancock has committed the classic leftist blunder; he ignored a problem until it became a problem for him. After all, he needs to have the city looking pretty by the time all of those fans and cameras arrive.
Opening Day
Sure, baseball is a great way to relax, have a few beers, and eat some peanuts. But, and I may sound a bit sentimental here, there is something about baseball that, no matter how avaricious and woke the owners and the clubs may be, no matter how many “nights” they stage or rainbows they plaster over everything, and no matter how many games cities play with stadiums, there is still something good about it.
I knew that when I was a kid. Whatever my family’s dysfunctions may have been, they disappeared for a while as I walked up the street to Riverfront with my dad, a dollar bag of peanuts clutched in my hand. The sun hitting the field, that uniquely American smell that is made up of the combination of grass, metal, fresh air, and industry, the sight of my favorite players taking the field, the crowd cheering over a home run or even a triple. Bringing my glove because, no matter how lousy our seats were, there was an astronomical chance that I might catch a foul ball. And then going home to play catch for a few hours.
All of that is baseball. I suppose that is why every man worth his salt chokes up at the end of Field of Dreams. No matter what issues I had with my father, no matter how screwed up he may have been, I swear, if the S.O.B. rose from the grave tomorrow, I’d still want to play catch with him again.
As I got older, that transformed into taking my grandson to see our local minor league team play. We used to sit in the stands and I’d explain what a full count is, and how foul balls can also be strikes. One time, we even managed to go to a day of public batting practice. We were able to sit in the dugout, shag balls in the infield and outfield, and he even got to hit a few from the batter’s box. Darned if the get didn’t hit a dinger. It made grandpa pretty proud.
The industry can control the look and the marketing. But — and this is important not just for the sport, but for everything else in America — it can’t control baseball. On a very visceral level, baseball still belongs to us. The industry can try to politicize it. It can try to slap pronouns on it. It can try to exploit the game but in the end, baseball is still ours. James Earl Jones said it best:
Ray, people will come, Ray.
They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past.
“Of course, we won’t mind if you look around,” you’ll say. “It’s only twenty dollars per person.” They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it. For it is money they have and peace they lack.
And they’ll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they’ll watch the game, and it’ll be as if they’d dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.
People will come, Ray.
The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.
America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.
This field, this game — it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.
Ohhhhhhhh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.
Actually, it’s much better to hear Jones say it:
It is true that baseball has given us some scandals, but it has also given us heroes. If not for baseball, no one would ever know of the courage of Jackie Robinson or Lou Gehrig or whoever your favorite player was growing up or is today. So let Denver pull whatever stunts it wants to. It has only succeeded in showing the greed, elitism, and hypocrisy of the Left. In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be at the brewpub with nachos and a draft beer. It’s opening day, after all.
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