Field of Dreams

I honestly don’t listen to the radio much. During the school year, my five minute office commute turns into a 20 minute kid delivery system, and during that time I’d much rather listen for any nuggets of wisdom brought forward from the rugrats in the back. On the occasion that I have to go out of town for the day, I have lately found myself turning on the radio and tuning into ESPN radio. The thing that usually drives me nuts and eventually leads me to turn off ESPN radio in frustration is that ESPN announcers find one topic, and they talk about the same thing over and over again. It’s like having a front row seat for the day to watch Sysiphus push that boulder up the mountain!!! Inevitably one program will end, and another will start, and like Sysiphus, you just hope that boulder will stay on top of the mountain, so he can pick up a different one and start rolling that sucker back to the top; but it never turns out that way.

Like I said, normally this drives me insane!!! Until one day a few weeks back when the long time radio broadcaster for the Detroit Tigers passed away. His name escapes me at the moment, and I’m too lazy to google him, but that’s not really the point. Evidently this dude had been on the radio for over 50 or 60 years! Ernie Harwell, that’s his name! It just came back to me. At any rate, it soon became apparent that this man had touched the lives of literally millions of people. The ESPN phone lines were jam-packed with “regular Joes”, and “Joe Somebody’s” who were willing to wait on hold for a long time just so they could tell their own personal story of how Ernie, or Ernie’s broadcast, had a special place in their heart. What an amazing legacy. Each story lead me to a special memory of my own, and I’d like to share a little bit.

I remember as a boy, my granddaddy and I were mutual heroes of one another. He thought I hung the moon, and of course since the moon had been there as far back as I can remember, I thought he was giving me credit for something he did long ago. My granddaddy was always kinda old, and he smoked like a chimney, so I always remember him being kinda sickly. He always moved a little slow, and never did a whole lot, but I loved being around him. I always remember that if we were at his house, and there was a baseball game on, he’d slowly amble back to his bedroom, lay on his bed, and he’d watch the Astros for hours. If Nolan Ryan was pitching, it was a special treat. Since I wanted to stay in his shadow, I’d amble just behind as we walked down the long hallway, and as he crawled onto the bed I’d walk around to my grandmother’s side and we’d lay there in the smoke filled room listening to the echoes of Milo Hamilton and Larry Dierker as they told us pitch by pitch how the “Lastros” were playing crappy baseball. I’ll always remember as a little boy, we’d sit there watching the game, and somehow our hands would come together, our fingers would interlock, and sometimes we’d sit there and hold hands until one of us probably felt a little funny, and then we’d have arm wrestling matches, really for no other reason than to affirm that men shouldn’t sit there holding hands. The old fart died when I was about 12, and it almost broke my heart.

Before he died, I had found a small battery powered radio somewhere in the house, and it was the perfect size for me to tune into AM 740, and gently slide under my pillow, and there again I’d lay still and listen to Milo and Larry tell me how crappy the Astros were playing. After he died, I continued listening to the Astros on that little radio, and like a time machine, as Milo and Larry continued to tell the story of each game, my mind would drift back to those arm wrestling matches, and the great times we shared. Soon enough, like all young boys, I turned into a self absorbed teenager, life got busy, and I forgot about so many of the memories that shaped me.

“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 has 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 of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come”

My spine tingles as I remember this scene from Field Of Dreams, when James Earl Jones is convincing Kevin Costner not to forget about the past, or give up on his dream for the future. Like the quote, my blackboard was erased, only to be rebuilt by a few hours of ESPN radio, on an obscure day, where fans of all kinds extolled the virtues of a baseball announcer, and I’m so grateful to have that memory back again. Even today, with the exception of Jackson’s tee ball game, I’d really rather watch Sysiphus and his daily rock push, than watch a complete baseball game, but I still remember. It’s a silly game, it’s a boring game, and the Astros still stink, but I’m thankful for ESPN radio, Milo Hamilton and Larry Dierker for reminding me of what was once good. Most of all I’m thankful for the promise of my Lord to know that one day I can again hold hands with my granddaddy, and it will be good again.