Column: The meaning of playing Catch

Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then....

“... and the Giants have taken Game 1 of the World Series!”

* * *
Twelve years ago, I would’ve been tremendously ticked about missing as much of the opening game of the World Series as I did last night. Livid as a little guy could be; Like I had just been declared grounded from now until next year’s Fall Classic.

But frankly this year, I can hardly tell you a thing about this Tigers–Giants matchup. That’s just the way it is after a whole summer spent unfortunately divorced from the sport. You’re better off asking Martha Stewart about wrestling or Mila Kunis about ugly.

Yet, after taking the time to ponder the series for a bit and observe a couple innings (I’ll take Tigers in six, by the way), I began to remember. The drama, finality and history all flooded back. The fans that wave rally towels torturing ADD TV viewers and the droning voice of broadcaster Joe Buck that eggs on everyone to nod off.

Then, staring at Justin Verlander and Barry Zito fire pitches in to their respective catchers, I recalled my favorite thing yet: That we are just like these players in that we all, at some point or another, got started with a simple game of catch. Sure, I don’t know as much as I used to or suit up for nine innings anymore, but in this way, baseball will never be far away.

* * *
Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then….

Crash! “Well, you’re certainly grounded now.”

Along the lines of sitting down and reciting your ABCs, playing catch is, of course, a simple thing. And like it happened for so many others, catch was introduced to me first by my dad. For this, I owe him countless tosses of thanks. It sounds silly, but just like the game helped bring major leaguers great fortune, catch has brought me an incredible deal as well. Excluding the two weeks of cleaning and pulling weeds up to compensate for a one-time broken window, I can’t repay it.

Memories of tossing the ball on sun-soaked days will forever be imprinted in my mind; the conversations that were carried back and forth with the baseball helped me grow as a person, as modern day discussions do for many kids nowadays; the skills I was able to grow helped me play a game that touched my childhood and currently shapes the lives of millions.

On the surface, playing Catch is fun. Below that, catch facilitates this kind of bonding interaction and teamwork. There’s no doubt about it. Ask anyone ever associated with Little League. But, still there’s more.

At its very essence, the pastime symbolizes simplicity, sharing and steadiness. Repeated, uncomplicated engagement in a comfortable setting. It underscores the importance and significance of the littlest of things. Taking the time to throw the ball around can be the equivalent of giving a smile here or holding a door there. Those kinds of things have made all our days some time or another.

Catch furthers the notion of being able to gain enjoyment from partaking in an activity that can’t be done on one’s own. It teaches that the simplest acts can also do the greatest good. There’s no time frame, no requirements, no nothing. Just Catch.

* * *
Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then....crack!
“...stabbed by Foulke. He has it. He underhands to first, and the Boston Red Sox are the world champions!”

Now as good a game I’ve talked up so far, the times I’ve spent playing Catch are not amongst my happiest memories. Truthfully, if that were the case, it’d be a little sad. Scratch that—pathetic. But, the leisure pursuit did help set up the moments I can count as those in which I’ve come to pure bliss. I’ll now venture a guess that fellow Red Sox faithful would often tend to agree.

Back in 2004, the Sox of course triumphed over 86 years of treacherous misfortune and misguided management to claim the World Series title. I didn’t cry or anything of that nature, but I wasn’t alone in experiencing happiness to the point of near-tears during their remarkable playoff run. All of the comebacks and walk-offs; the defeat of the Evil Empire and triumphs of courage; the heroics, they captivated me. Then, after the final of four victories over the helpless Cardinals, I stood in awe of what I perceived then to be true miracle.

This was all made possible because in the years before, my father and my friends had stood a few paces out often enough with glove in hand ready to have a quick game of Catch. Had they not have, I possibly could not have cared less about group of 40 men jumping around like school girls who’d been asked to the prom by Justin Bieber. I may have just dismissed whatever “adversity” a sports team named after socks overcame in one of the greatest seasons sports has ever seen.

Thanks to the game of catch, I can appreciate the wonder of baseball. Thanks to Catch, men can make a living off baseball. Thanks to the the glove and mitt, millions of underprivileged kids around the world can develop a chance to escape poverty. While it may be the smallest of acts, playing Catch can lead to a great deal of grand things.

It’s a concept that is millenia old, but will never grow old on us. Nowadays, people always want to know the immediate meaning of a big upset, monumental collapse or sometimes, a whole season. Right after the Tigers or Giants win this year’s World Series, I guarantee it will happen again.

So in the meantime, I pose to you – what is the meaning of a forgotten pastime comprised of a small act of togetherness and a potential spark of great things to come? To you, what can the meaning be of playing Catch?
Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then, thump.

Thud. Then…

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