Joy

Peanuts, hotdogs, baseball and beer.  Oh, and friends appreciating the same, in fact, encouraging you to embrace the wonderful things in life.

Recently speaking to one of the terrific and closest friends in my life, (amongst others…I’m very blessed) and considering the Corona pandemic, I was worried about his health.  He’s almost one hundred and thirteen years old.  Rather than giving a Yankee dime about his age, or a virus, his focus was on baseball.

I wish everyone in this wild world could hear his passionate voice.  “What the Hell about opening Day!?!”  He didn’t have to remind me of it, Opening Day has been delayed over health concerns.  He watches baseball, coached it, and allowed me to enter his home when we could either watch or listen to any game on TV or the radio.  Those were magnificent days.  We’d laugh at the announcers, make fun of foolish fans, speak of players’ salaries and then retreat to our home field: Indian Stadium in Spokane, Washington.  One dollar hotdogs and beer.  Best dogs ever.  I guess you could wonder if we were the best dogs in the stadium. I’m tired of wondering.  On those glorious evenings, amidst the lights in a balmy seventy degree city, we found joy.  I still can’t thank him enough.

The games?  It didn’t matter to me who was winning.  Believe me, I HATE losing, and I LOVE winning.  Anyone telling you differently is selling something.  This fellow made me recognize how we can love something, and for three hours, forget about everything else.

Marshall St. John, my friend, encouraged me to enjoy the very, very difficult and wonderful sport of baseball.  Opening day will be missed, but our games will not be forgotten.

Three generations of St. Johns

 

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