A Closet Romantic

On one of the online dating websites there’s a question – something about what’s something no one knows about you, or maybe it’s what something you’re not willing to admit.

I suppose for me, there’s not many. Hang around me and you’ll see all those things. Maybe the question should be, what would most people be surprised to know about you.

The hidden gem there is probably I’m a closet romantic. My favorite movies are those romances that highlight love in all its forms and ways. Meet Joe Black, Love Actually, Sweet Home Alabama, … Even more are the sports movies, the comeback stories, the inspirational moments. The Legend of Bagger Vance, Breaking Away, The Natural, Bull Durham, Field of Dreams, …

Some of this certainly is romance born of the Victorian era, with courting and all the goodness that flows. For me it’s something else though.

My romanticism has flavors of love most certainly. Two people who love each other where everyone feels it as well. Where there’s sweetness and connection and a smile that lives around them. I believe in it. I suppose there’s some idealism floating amongst my visions – and still I’m completely a realist that knows that a human love is like a roller coaster that chugs uphill sometimes pulled along by life itself. Other times it looking out from the tops, or twirling and twisting in loops and circles. It’s all there. And I believe in a love that’s just love, born of another place, something words are useless to illustrate.

It’s also about our ordinariness, and the ability for each of us to be our own hero, our own guide. Sports isn’t about the game or who wins or loses – but that you play, that you play all out with everything you have – heart, soul, ability (or not!), passion. It’s how you play. I love the ending of Seven Days in Utopia where the main character of the story is on the 18^th hole of the final round of a major golf tournament. If he makes the putt he wins the tournament. And so he putts and the camera follows the ball … you never see if the ball goes in the cup or not. It doesn’t matter – it’s how he played the game, how he lived life.

And one of my favorite quotes from Bull Durham with Kevin Costner as Crash Davis:

“Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.”

Yes, I believe. I believe in the soul, I believe in love. I believe in giving it everything I have, in every moment. I believe in the absolute wonder and awe and beauty that’s life. I believe … there’s more no doubt, just ask!

Surprised?

The Swing

This is one of those days I love when I watched something and came to a new understanding of the world and how I see it. Or in this case it’s about Baseball and Golf …

well sort of …

Tonight I watched Moneyball, a movie about Baseball – yes Baseball with a capital ‘B’. An All-American game. I’m not a baseball fan, but the movie reminded me of why for some it’s such a fascinating game. Sure there are statistics – more than any other sports. There are strategies based upon anything and everything. That’s all for the spectators.

For the players it’s all about the moment. The moment the ball goes across the plate and the batter decides to swing or not and hope to connect with the ball. Or at least that’s what it would be for me. I’ve never really played baseball, a little t-ball as a kid, hitting a few tennis balls in the backyard with a bat, but never baseball. But maybe I understand the mind of a player a bit more.

How can I bring every last bit of experience of my life into this one moment, this one decision? To assess the weather, the light, the wind, the pitcher’s throw, the curve of the pitch, the spin, my stance, my grip, how will I swing, how I’ll lift my front foot, how much to step forward, to swing in exactly the right spot to hit the ball. To bring forth every previous time at the plate, whether in a game or practice, to bring forth the experience of every previous pitcher, every word of advice from a coach. And not just the baseball moments, but everything – the moments in the weight room, the moments of eating, time spent in preparation, hours and quality of sleep, all the rituals and superstitions, all voices in my head coming together for one moment. Every moment of my life compressed into a slice of time to hit a ball with a stick.

The truth is the statistics of the number of connections is low. There are the pitches never swung at, some smartly because it’s not worth chasing. There are pitches misjudged which should be swung at and aren’t. There are pitches that are swung at that miss. There are pitches swung at that go wild and out-of-play.

Still I know that if Baseball was my game I’d spent the hours and days and weeks to step up and make that connection, with the ball and with life. I understand why they stand around and wait. For those 5 or 6 times at the plate in 9 innings to put it all on the line.

It’s the same with Golf. I’m not a golfer, but I have gone to the range to swing at a few buckets of balls. Even in those short periods of time, I can feel the pull. To find a grip, a stance, a swing, shoulder placement, follow-through, twist, concentration, focus, precise effort (not too much, not too little). I can feel the pull to try again. To try something different. To connect better with the ball, to get the perfect arc, to send it farther down the green. I can feel the pull. To try again to bring every bit of life into this one swing that lasts a second in time.

Then I let go because it’s not my game. And because I want more.

I want more than the moments of the smack of a bat against a ball a few times in a game. I want that complete devotion to the present now, … and now, … and now. I want to bring every bit of who I am into every moment in time. Every piece of work, every slice of play, every smile to a stranger, every footfall of a run, every connection with another being.  To be present here and now. I don’t know how well I’ll do, but I’m sure going to give it my best!