Conversations with children can be like a time machine; in their words and attitudes, we often see ourselves backwards through the tunnel of time. We get to see our optimism and hope, ignorance and immaturity all in one under-sized package. Though we never get that oft wished-for chance impart crucial wisdom to our young selves, we can occasionally influence children down the path we wish we’d chosen.
Naturally, for me, this all comes back to baseball. Our hometown nine, several years distant from our lone World Series appearance, has fallen on hard times of late. Aging stars are falling, and few new ones are rising from the minor leagues. Through the influence of local sports talk radio and the indifference of the national sports media, the city has developed a rather dark view of the team, the owner, and the future. Worst of all, the kids have started to believe that it’s not worth it to be a fan.
Recently, a young man I know expressed this sentiment, and compounded his heresy by suggesting that he might transfer his fandom to another team, a hated rival of our hometown team. The socially agreed-upon conventions of adult-child relationships prevented me from correcting him physically, so I had to fall back on a verbal reprimand.
Perhaps disproportionate to the hype and tax revenue directed their way, sports teams are still a huge part of our community identity. Teams take on their town’s personality, and vice versa. This axiom holds, broadly speaking, from the first organized teams of youth all the way to the professionals playing in corporately named stadiums. So at the core, I wanted to encourage him to be a part of his community.
Our team in particular has had dark days before, flirting with success only long enough to build our collective hopes that the inevitable collapse wouldn’t come this time. Living through these times fortified those of us who soldiered through without giving in to sports bigamy or divorce, made us stronger fans and more ardent defenders of our city as a whole. Since that portion of the team’s history predates this young man’s conception, I told him of losing seasons past, and the fruit that they bear, both in a fan’s character and in the team’s subsequent success. The rejoicing is more triumphant when it follows despair.
Passing virtues on to the next generation is both a responsibility and a joy. As the young man and I walked from the stadium after watching our team scrape out a win against an in-division rival, I asked him if he was still a fan. When he replied in the affirmative, it was a sound as sweet as any sure-thing home run. The kids are alright.