棒球人生

Angrily， the manager in the movie 1)Bull Durham asserts， “This is a simple game. You throw the ball! You hit the ball! You catch the ball!”

I wish baseball was that simple， but many of its 2)nuances go unnoticed. I see baseball as a complex and complicated sport on many levels， much like life. In fact， I find that elements and lessons in life， like foresight， instinctual and repetitious response， success and failure， communication， and trust intermingle with the fundamentals of baseball—a parallel to life in many ways.

One day， following an amiable disagreement with my friend over which Major League team is the best， I said with little thought， “Baseball seems to resemble mimic life sometimes.”

“Yeah，” he agreed. “You can get lucky， but it all comes down to whether you can or can’t catch a 3)fly ball， hit a 4)curveball， whatever. That way you can affect the whole team and what happens in a game.”

Then， our conversation paused for a moment before 5)heading off on a tangent， but this thought was still in my mind a few days later when I spoke with another friend.

“What is it about baseball that appeals to you， Joey?” I asked.

“Baseball has human error in it，” he responded after a moment. “Players make mistakes. 6)Umpires are bound to make a wrong call and there’s no instant replay. You can’t go back and change a call.”

“Yeah， true. You can’t go back and change what happened…whether it was right or wrong.”

As I prepare physically and mentally for a game of no particular importance， I reflect on life and on baseball. I had made the trek from the car to the ballfield countless times， bat bag and other equipments 7)weighing me down.8)Cleats click on the pavement， transitioning to a nearly inaudible 9)thud with each step on the grass， its sweet smell overwhelming my nostrils with every breath.

A cool， crisp breeze 10)kicks up a cloud of dust. Pristine chalk lines reach out from 11)home plate to the 12)outfield wall. Stopping， I reminisce. My blood， sweat and tears have 13)saturated these grounds， from age five to my current 16. A feeling

of existence， like a second life， full of lessons， growth， and memory reside on and within this

simple patch of grass and dirt.

But it’s game time. Anxiety melts away as I take my position at second base. I plan between every pitch， going over every possibility: If the ball’s hit here... there... then I move... throw... Once the ball’s 14)in play， it’s too late to think. I have only seconds to react， yet time seems to stretch into a state of slow motion. It comes down to that practiced， repeated， instinctual motion of response， field and throw the ball. Then I realize life comes， in spite of my plan， and I must act and react in the moment.

As the 15)inning ends， new challenges await me.

Bat firmly in hand， I stand in the 16)batter’s box by home plate as I dig and grind my back foot into the dust， scrutinizing each pitch—high or low， inside or out， fastball or curve. Looking for the pitch to hit， I wait and swing， knowing both success and failure.

I know my chances. It seems almost odd that 17)batting 300 (an average of three hits for every ten

18)at-bats) is a desired statistic， which means the other seven at-bats conclude with one more out made and my space reclaimed on the

19)dugout bench. Yet with each

at-bat there’s another opportunity to beat the odds， the nine defensemen， to watch that white， laced 20)sphere soar through the sky or skip across the ground. With each success or failure， there’s another at-bat， today or the next game， to do better or worse， and all I can do is embrace that with hope and desire.

By now the lights above the field shine instead of the absent sun， and the game still continues. A new batter steps up， and another pitch

21)barrels in. A deep fly ball. I yell to the outfielders， “Back! Back!”

They 22)sprint deeper， calling and yelling with urgency and assertiveness， “Mine! It’s mine! I got it!”

One ultimately wins the contest of position and vocal assertion， and the ball lands securely in his glove， then relayed into the 23)cut-off next to me， and back to the pitcher. Maybe he gets a nod or “Nice catch，” but an understood or verbal communication seems to be in every move， every play， even between pitches.

I receive signs when I bat or run bases as hand gestures， vocal aid and direction during plays， a nod of acknowledgement for a job well done. Without this vital communication， teamwork just wouldn’t be possible and the game wouldn’t work. I’m not able to read minds. Although there is trust that each person will make their play， catch， hit， and throw the ball， I need to talk and communicate; collisions， missed plays， and errors are all born from silence and misunderstanding. So this game mumbles on.

Following the final “out”， bat bags are repacked in preparation for another day. I stare， transfixed， at an empty field once again， no longer 24)manicured to perfection. The lines are blurred， the grass is no longer patterned. The sounds， lessons， and images remain in my mind long after the lights turn off， leaving this 25)haven to glow in the 26)iridescent glow of the moon. This sport—this place—is more to me than a few simple

swings of the bat， throws across the diamond， or routine 27)grounders. It seems to have a life all its own.

在電影《百萬金臂》里，經(jīng)理人生氣地喊道：“這只不過是一個簡單的比賽。你只要投球！擊球！接球！”

我希望棒球真的那么簡單，但他忽略了其中許多細微之處。我認為，從不同角度來說，棒球這種體育運動非常復雜，與人生酷似。事實上，我發(fā)現(xiàn)人生的眾多元素和教訓，比如預測、本能而重復的反應、成敗、交流以及信任，都與棒球的基本要素交織契合——在許多方面棒球與人生都極其相似。

一天，我和朋友談論哪支美國職業(yè)棒球隊最優(yōu)秀，我溫和地表達了自己的不同看法之后，不假思索地說：“有時候棒球如同人生的縮影?！?/p>

“對啊，”他贊同地說道，“你可以交上好運，但是最終還是要看你能不能接住一個騰空球，擊中一個曲線球什么的。這樣，你就可以影響整支球隊和比賽的賽況?！?/p>

然后，我們的談話停頓了一會兒，就轉到另一個話題上了，但是直到幾天后我和另一位朋友聊天時，我對人生與棒球的想法仍然盤踞在腦海里。

我問他：“喬伊，你認為棒球最吸引你的是什么？”

“棒球存在著人為的錯誤，”他過了會兒回答說，“球員會犯錯，裁判也會判錯，而且當場沒有鏡頭回放。你不可能回到過去，改變判罰。”

“是啊，確實如此。無論對錯，你都不可能回到過去，改變已經(jīng)發(fā)生的一切……”

在為一場無關緊要的棒球賽做身心準備期間，我思索著人生與棒球。無數(shù)次，我背著沉重無比的球袋和其他裝備，艱難地從車里走到球場。腳上的釘鞋在人行道上“咔嗒咔嗒”地響，進入草坪后，每一步隨即變得幾近低沉無聲，同時我的一呼一吸都充滿了草坪的芳香。