Today is, of course, the day in which we recognize Daylight Savings Time. I've never really understood the point of Daylight Savings Time or why there is really any benefit to it in life matters, I don't often complain about when it rolls around in March. To me, Daylight Savings has always meant that we get to stay outside and play baseball longer. I was never a huge fan of getting more sunlight in the morning because I never really had any outdoor activities to do in the morning. And I was never really a fan of turning back the clocks because I wanted to stay outside later, and darkness prohibited me from doing so.
With Daylight Savings, comes springtime. Springtime is when leaves start to grow back on the trees and flowers gain back their color. It's when people come out of their surrogate hibernation and suddenly appear outside- in shorts, t-shirts and sandals. Springtime is festive, bright and enjoyable. Of course today's weather fittingly coincided with Daylight Savings...a warm sun and a light breeze filled the air. College students flooded the lawns on the off-campus houses and outside of the dorms playing touch football, soccer and Kan-Jam (its a New York thing, for those who don't know- http://www.kanjam.com/Game/HowToPlay.aspx ). It was the perfect setting for a Sunday afternoon, an enjoyable social activity outdoors followed by the viewing of the selection show for March Madness.
While growing up I became accustomed to spending many days much like this one at the park with friends. We'd wake up fairly early and call each other, setting a time to arrive together. We'd draft up two teams of even proportion (usually hoping to be able to form teams of nine) and assume our positions on the field. We would play and play and play for hours on end. Our baseball games didn't have time limits or innings or pitch counts. We had no coaches or umpires or even fans. We'd only stop for lunch, or if someone got hurt badly enough that they'd need a bandaid or some ice. Occasionally, games were temporarily halted because we would be engaged in some sort of argument between squads that often times turned physical. But nonetheless, we played until we couldn't play anymore. Then, we would head home for dinner and subsequent responsibilities.
Days like today cause me to be incredibly reminiscent of those times. Those days at the park were when I learned how to throw a spitball, how to do the "Jeter jump throw", how to "pimp" a home run like Ken Griffey Jr. It was where I learned the magnificent art of a double relay to third base, and the horrible negativity of a hanging curveball (or beauty, depending on how you look at it). I learned the taste of defeat and the feeling of victory. I learned the important of the word team and the love for the game of baseball.
Days like today make me wish, so badly, that I'd be able to step back out on that field and haplessly run around playing the exquisite game of baseball that I am so used to playing from years past. While others are able to enjoy this activity, I am unfortunately not. I am confined to sitting on the side and laughing along with the foolishness displayed in front of me. Often times my competitive side chimes in and I resort to playing the aforementioned Kan-Jam or football or soccer or basketball. None of the above will hurt my arm and will prevent me from eventually being able to enjoy the game I love so much once again.
That is not to say that I sit on the side of these sandlot scrimmages in a depressed manner. I no longer mourn in self-pity about the fact that I am unable to participate in these wonderful times. I've come to a very strong foregone conclusion- something that has comforted me during the viewing of my team's practices, conditioning workouts and games-
This happened for a reason.
I hurt my elbow for a reason. I was misdiagnosed for a reason. I had surgery for a reason. I have been rehabbing for a reason. I was accepted into grad school for a reason. I'm helping coach my college team for a reason. Everything that has occurred in my baseball life in the past year has happened for a reason.
As I step foot outside this week, when the weather is supposed to be absolutely beautiful, I am going to enjoy watching people playing baseball. Whether it is a pick up game on a grassy knoll outside of a dorm hall or an official contest that my college teammates are participating in, I will enjoy it. I will not sit there woefully wishing I was on the field playing as well. I will not jealously frown upon the trials and tribulations of the game in front of me. I will instead gaze upon the spectacle with a calm grin, taking in everything that there is to appreciate about the game of baseball. I will enjoy each and every moment of the event, and reminisce about the magnificent times I've had with the game in the past.
I've come to terms with the surgery. It's taken me almost eight months to do so, but I did it. Watching baseball doesn't bother me anymore. Why should it? It's an unbelievably amazing game, filled with a multitude of emotions and an even bigger basket of memories. The game has not changed since I was forced to stop playing last April. It's still just as elegant as it was. It's just as captivating as I remember it.
The void in my life that has been unfilled is slowly beginning to creep back into place. Springtime is quickly upon us, and fields are being quickly occupied by those active souls who wish to grace them with their presence. And for me, I love it. I love people playing baseball and I love watching it. And even more than watching it, I love playing it. Watching it is a reminder that eventually I'll be playing it. And I love every minute of it.
Each and every day creeps just a bit closer to that day when I can join my friends on that field and no longer be a spectator. I'll be able to throw a baseball with no regrets and be pleased with my ability to compete.
For now, though, I'll settle for watching it. Because playing it or not, it's a beautiful game.
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