Three Cheers for the Foresters

I’m pretty sure Marianne Partridge, notorious Yankees fan, was on the fence about giving me a column until I mentioned my love of baseball, and specifically Santa Barbara’s own California Collegiate League team, the Foresters.

“Would you throw out the first pitch in the Foresters’ game that the Independent sponsors?” she asked.

“Sure!” I agreed with the enthusiasm of blind faith. Then, admittedly, I forgot all about it.

Several weeks later, Marianne called: “Are you ready to throw out the pitch tomorrow?”

“Absolutely!” I lied through my teeth.

I frantically called a friend whose son is a crack Little Leaguer and begged for some pointers. I still came away with scratches from fishing baseballs out of their blackberry bush.

Nevertheless, I persisted. Because while blind faith formed the basis of my confidence, in many respects, every baseball player operates on the same optimism of naïve credulity.

Little else could induce a person to believe that armed with nothing more than a glorified stick, they could hit a ball pitched gut level at dizzying speeds hard enough, fast enough, and far enough to foil an entire army equipped with mitts. And yet, the batter’s up, every time.

Then, the inning’s over. The battle begins all over again, but in reverse, and the players who faced the pitcher alone are now required to place complete confidence in their teammates, trusting that they are all in a constant state of vigilance required to create a living, mutable net that, together, can catch anything that comes their way.

Far more than the athleticism it requires, it is the fluidity between faith in oneself and trust in others that grips this political junky’s heart. Because, in this, baseball is the perfect metaphor for democracy. We cast our votes alone, trusting that millions of others will do the same.

Cloaked in the real-life fantasy of sportsmanship and civic duty, I bought a bag of used baseballs from Play It Again Sports and snuck into San Marcos’s baseball field to practice throwing with a plastic garbage can for a catcher. A few YouTube videos later, and I could get the ball almost all the way to home plate half of the time. Good enough. I quit before I threw my arm out and put the rest on faith.

Game day. I headed down to the field, throwing myself to the fates and the spirit of Sandy Koufax.

In the bullpen, Team Manager Bill Pintard and I got to talking about the state of the game and the state of politics.

I mentioned that our attitudes in the sports arena often bleed into the political arena. A deeply diplomatic man, Pintard nevertheless looked at me like I had just insulted his mother.

“No,” he said. “It’s the other way around. The players recognize that the guy on that team could be on his team. That there’s a mutual amount of respect between players.”

It was time for me to warm up with one of the players ― my last chance to have a chance.

I heaved the ball with all my might toward Marcus Greis. I threw the ball wide and low.

“Great job!” he said with genuine enthusiasm.

A few more practice pitches and I was deemed ready.

I took my place, fixed my gaze, and let it rip.

I literally jumped for joy when Greis caught it in the air.

The whole team gave me high fives as I jogged back to the stands, elated.

My euphoria quickly waned as our opponents, the San Diego Waves, cracked one base hit after another, caught our pop flys, and made frustratingly adept double plays.

Bottom of the ninth. Two runs down. Two outs. Brady Janusek is up to bat.

Never in his life had Janusek hit a walk-off.

But Janusek gripped his blind faith as he picked up his bat, and his team held complete confidence in him.

“Get a cookie,” called Pintard as Janusek stepped up to the plate.

Line drive down the left-field line.

Three runners in, the home team wins, and the bench clears as the Foresters surround Janusek ― and try to dump the cooler on his head.

One could say we’re in the bottom of the ninth with two outs against us. Donald Trump is in the Oval Office. The “Supreme” Court gutted the Voting Rights Act then turned around to allow untold amounts of corporate money to flow into our elections. Graham Platner’s ignominious exit from Maine’s senatorial race is evidence that even the Progressive Movement has yet to conquer its demons.

And yet, from Mary Peltola running for Senate in Alaska to Deb Haaland running for Governor in New Mexico to Justice Anita Earls running for the Supreme Court in North Carolina, the bases are loaded with capable candidates up and down the ballot.

Now, it’s our turn at the plate. Recognize that some of the players on the other team could be on your team. Trust each other. Cultivate the deep faith that your vote, your voice, your actions just might be the walk-off play that wins the game. Batter’s up, America. Get a cookie.