I think I am on to something.
While attending the State “B” Amateur Baseball Championships in Mitchell, South
Dakota the past two nights, I struck up a conversation with a baseball
enthusiast in his 70s. We talked about the Legion tournament in Aberdeen, the
local and statewide stars in Mitchell, watched them together, cheered good
plays together where George McGovern threw the first ball of the tournament. I
shared part of my story, but when my support of the Dems surfaced, the
conversation stopped on a dime and the retiree turned his attention to other
people nearby. After a few minutes, he turned and said to me
– a 45-yr-old expatriate and former
Legion ball player living in Europe: “You know why they had trouble getting
Obama into that big Tour de France while he was over there?” The answer: “They
couldn't find him training wheels.” Aha: the “Can he lead” question. Pretty
awful packaging, but I get it. Does the guy read Time magazine? Hmmm. At
that particular moment in time there was a big hit on the field, so I let it
go.
The second night, I am about to leave the tournament, people are wandering to
their cars, visions of double-plays dancing in their heads, beautiful lightning
flashes surrounding Mitchell on the darkening horizon, and the same
codger-dodger pulls me aside to deliver his poorly disguised put-down, he just
can't help himself, directing this at me: “I remember, you are living in
Europe. Do you know why when Obama was over there they couldn't get him into
that the big race?” My reply: “You mean the Tour de France. I think I know
what's coming....” He in fact repeats the joke verbatim and throws the
cheap-shot punch line at my feet a second time, exactly 24 hours later. Guy
doesn't even know me. “bla-bla-bla ... training wheels.”
I remind him that 200,000 turned out in Berlin to listen to his speech. He just
turns away and walks. I walk. He is looking very pleased with himself. My
friend, a long-time and almost perennial MVP pitcher in amateur baseball, comes
walking up to me, witnesses the tail end of a weird conversation and says: “Were
you talking politics?” I said yes. Knowing looks are exchanged.
The two evenings in Mitchell were an eye-opening display of keen attention to
detail. We all watched every play, looked for the nuance in the game, who is on
a hitting streak, whose curve ball is bending but not breaking, whose wildness
causes the catcher to nab the ball behind the batter's back. What umpire gets “taken
out” by a tipped foul ball. Who can turn the game around with the swing of a
bat and whether it is wiser to walk (a Mudcat). But when it comes to political
discourse, sloppiness in fielding, flat-footed delivery, a poor stance, a
faulty windup and repeating the same error without having learned from it – all of this is
good enough for casual talk at the ballpark, perhaps for too many.
I drive back to my sister's in Aberdeen, SD. As the supposedly clever “Dump
Daschle” bumper sticker on the old yellow Aberdeen Mercedes driving around in
the Hub City demonstrates, a cheap shot and a snear gets some mileage with some
folks. I hear my Mobridge friend Bill's words when faced with something flat-out unfair. He just says: “It is not right.” It is not right to just let them drive
and get no response. No sensitivity to an anthrax attack in 2001, just say “dump”
like ridding yourself of a poor marital decision.
If these views get a hearing without a vigorous response, then somebody like
Corsi of the famed anti-Gore campaign gets more air time, unanswered, too. Like
I said, I think I am on to something. People need to remember there has to be
some rules, dignity and that below-the-belt is just not right. It is time for
even more intellectual vigor to be applied to political debate than it is to
athletics and the conversation, good or mediocre, baseball lets you partake in.
