My history as a Rangers fan is quite blotchy. As a
kid, my exploits in baseball were a few times playing catch in the front yard
with my dad. It was never something I was really passionate about. During the
time of A-Rod I began for the first time to really watch the Rangers. For a
year or so I knew everything about them. A-Rod was traded. Mark Teixeira was the
next one to peek my interest. At this time I was more concerned with Jeff
Gordon and Brock Lesnar. After Tex was traded I again began to not care.
Hamilton slowly changed everything. With each season he was here I grew more
and more interested in him, the team, the game. Yesterday when it still seemed
like he would be a Ranger I began reading his book Beyond Belief. After the first three chapters it is undeniable that
his talent is unlike anyone to ever play the game. Or at least he is on the
very short list of truly great players. But the numbers don’t show it. This is
because of the well documented ‘demons’ he faced and faces specifically in the
form of drugs and alcohol. But his talent is undeniable. Former teammate Adrian
Beltre comments, “He's not the type of guy who studies pitchers or
sequences. He just sees the ball and hits it. The rest of us need to study and
have a plan before we get out there, but he doesn't need that. He's got that
much talent” (Beltre qtd. in Keown).
A year ago during the first couple
innings of game 6 of the World Series, before I went to a friend’s house for
the end of the game, my dad asked me a question. He asked “Why are they called
the Texas Rangers if no one on the team is from Arlington?” Beneath this
question lies the very real arbitrariness of all sports. He added “No one has
ever been able to answer that question.” Neither could I. But that night when
Hamilton hit the most perfect home run I have ever seen, I choked up. White
knuckled. As nervous as any moment in my life. And back from commercial. Darren
Oliver…Darren Oliver… Darren Oliver… The next morning I felt like someone
punched me in the gut. I felt like I did when I finally realized me and my high
school girlfriend were finally and totally broken up. I felt awful. I was in a
haze at school. And my dad’s question loomed. Why did I feel this way? Why does
this matter at all?
This past season I watched or
listened to, sometimes to the chagrin of those around me, all 163 games the Rangers played. And I saw
and experienced why this matters. On May 11th the Rangers played the
Angels. The game was delayed by rain. During the break, amidst sliding on the
tarp, Josh Hamilton was mopping the dugout. This was not his job. Nor was it
his job to step up in the life of Cooper Stone. He did both. But it was not
just him this season. The entire team was active in the community and put on a
good, fun, clean show for 162 nights. Beltre overreacting to a ball thrown
inside and dancing out of the batter’s box. Kinsler and Napoli doing whatever
they did in the dugout when Beltre hit the go ahead shot on September 20th.
The list of times these players made me just feel good inside this season could
go on and on.
I went to 19 games this year. The
best one though was June 17th. Father’s Day. My dad had never been
to the Ballpark in Arlington. Hadn’t been to a game in over 20 years. Colby
Lewis was pitching and Kinsler hit a bases clearing triple on route to a
victory. On that sun drenched Sunday I began to finally see the real meaning to
this game. Baseball is about what is best in people. It is about competition,
hot dogs, and conversations with your dad. It’s about believing that this will
be the year. And in this it has meaning.
But the question still remains why
the Texas Rangers. Why not Houston or even the Angels? Why do I feel this affinity
for these players? Is it because they play in my town? The arbitrariness of
this relationship remains unanswered. Benedict Anderson argues in Imagined Communities: Reflections on the
Origin and Spread of Nationalism that the concept of ‘nation’ is
constructed and that no real comradeship exists. Speaking of nations, “it is
imagined as a community because,
regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each,
the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship. Ultimately,
it is this fraternity that makes it possible, over the past two centuries, for
so many millions of people, not so much to kill, as willingly to die for such
limited imaginings” (Anderson 7). This same structuring is apparent in
baseball. We are led to believe that this is a community, our community. Even though very few players on the team are even
from this country. This is what gets us in the seats. We all sing the national
anthem together and have very little interaction with anyone around us. We
believe it is a community but at every level it collapses. Of 50,000 people in
a ballpark we may know 5 and talk to 10 while there. The only answer I have for
this disparity is that something about baseball does matter. It seems to allude
definition but it does matter. Maybe it is just those moments with your dad or
your friends. Or maybe it is the quality of the players, athletically and
personally that makes this less arbitrary and gives us a reason to cheer.
But with Hamilton it all seemed different. He was the one
mopping the dugout. He was the one catching the first pitch from Cooper Stone.
He was the one that hit the two run shot which should have won the Rangers the
World Series. He was the one who overcame addiction that for many would have
resulted in death, he was the one who preached Christ. Countless conversations
I have had which started about him turned into a discussion of the Gospel. Hamilton
symbolizes the power of God to transform a life. No other explanation holds. He
should be dead. And my sincerest hope is that in L.A. he can continue to preach
the Gospel and display by how he plays and lives that baseball is not the
answer. His personal glory is not the answer. But Christ is.
I am sorry that I was mad after he
dropped that ball against the A’s. I’m sorry I was mad when he only saw 8
pitches against the Orioles. I am sorry that I got mad today. Why? Because one
day I believe that I will be in a state of eternal adoration with Hamilton and
all other believers as we for all eternity ponder the unsearchable grace of
God. But there is something about this that feels personnel. The fans booed
Hamilton all season as he struggled at the plate. After the final game he
quoted Luke 9:5 alluding to the idea that we did not accept him and that he
needed to shake the dust from his sandals. I am sorry for the part I had in
that.
For me this day started with reading
Matthew 27. That horror was the extent to which God went to save me. And
Hamilton. And you. If God was willing to do that for Josh, I can forgive him
for upsetting me about baseball. As I told a friend earlier today, if the
Rangers miss the playoffs next year and the Angels are in it, I will cheer for
them. Josh Hamilton is the reason I have found a love for this game. I still
care more about the Rangers even if it is arbitrary. But I love the philosophy
of the front office, and the personality of the club house. And I love the feel
of being at the game, especially when they are winning. But it is a game.
I feel like I have rambled much more
than I intended. All I am really trying to say is thank you Josh. It has been
an unbelievable ride!
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