John Updike's Read On Baseball Life

As I've freely admitted, that is without intellectual coercion, on this blog in a time past, I don't read that many novels. My grasp of literature, genres and authors is adequate but not profound.

Nevertheless, I don't quite fall into the "I've read a book" category. I give ample time and attention, when interest permits, to novels. I like prose.

With this confession proclaimed, John Updike - a giant (as opposed to carni freak of nature) of American 20th century literature who recently passed away- is one of those authors whose novels I never took the time to read.

But I have read something produced by Updike's mind. It was a sports piece from The New Yorker titled "Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu." I came across this article years ago in "The Best American Sports Writing Of The Century."

It was a superb journey into the poetic and vulgar world of Ted Williams -a baseball hitting artisan - and his retiring from the game.

Enjoy a glimpse of a part of the story I liked:

"But of all team sports, baseball, with its graceful intermittences of action, its immense and tranquil field sparsely settled with poised men in white, its dispassionate mathematics, seems to me best suited to accommodate, and be ornamented by, a loner. It is an essentially lonely game. No other player visible to my generation concentrated within himself so much of the sport's poignance, so assiduously refined his natural skills, so constantly brought to the plate that intensity of competence that crowds the throat with joy."

The game is tailored made for the lonely - or for those at least comfortable in moments of free and personal solitude. I've been to a few therapeutic games by myself. I've spent many comfortable and painful lonely days and nights listening to the sound of baseball on the radio.

I'm often asked "how can you like baseball? It's so slow and boring." It's a question so baffling to me I've no idea how to respond to it. Even if I attempt to explain it on a logical and layman level it probably wouldn't help any.

I get the same question about jazz.

In a way they compliment one another. I like the mysteries each provide. How so much is happening in the background.

They say the soul can't be seen. But you can feel soul. Baseball and jazz are not tribal endeavors. They're meant for people who enjoy looking past finger tips. For people who want to go beyond the surface.

Baseball leaves me to contemplate. To think.

Between each pitch the beat and mood of life plays on. Each ball player on the field and person in the stand takes a brief moment to think of what may come next. What was just missed. How a loved one slipped away. Some may look at the sky and breathe in God's complex air. For the chatty, conversation resumes. But not all are as abstract. They simply chew peanuts, gum and hot dogs and accept existence for what it is. Then another pitch comes in, anticipation is built and then quelled with a ball, strike or hit and the whole process starts again. The permutations of baseball are synonymous with how lives unfold.

That's why losing the Montreal Expos was a big deal to baseball fans.

Note: Photos of Williams and DiMaggio (or Gehrig and Ruth for that matter) are mythical and enchanting.