WPCNR VIEW FROM THE UPPER DECK. By John Baseball Bailey. March 31, 2003: There is magic in the air. The breezes are crisp out of the Northwest, the sky is robin’s egg blue, the temperature is in the upper 40s and the Metropolitans open up today at old Shea Stadium, now the third oldest stadium in the National League, while the Bronx Bombers open in Skydome in Toronto. Meanwhile the White Plains baseball and softball teams games today have been postponed because of the cold and wet grounds.

Old Comiskey Park, Chicago, 1975
Photo by WPCNR SPORTS
Ball is like that girl friend that you can never really forget or get out of your system. No matter how badly she treats you you’ll keep coming back because she’s just so terrific. She’s really got a hold on you.
WPCNR watched the opening night ESPN game Sunday evening where the Texas Rangers actually completed a 9-inning game in three hours and 10 minutes, outpitching, yes, outpitching the Anaheim Angels, 6-3 to open officially the Major League baseball season.
The ball may be juiced, the pitching may not have those stalwarts who can go nine innings any more, the hitters may have little league fences to launch their blasts, but the rich green of the outfield, the snap of the thumb or fist in the umpire’s out sign, the diving catch, the bang-bang-bang of the round-the-horn twin killing just snaps you to attention. The majesty of an A-Rod Rocket, the snap of Urbina curve ball falling off the table. The concentration of eye, hand and glove. The reaction to snare the bullet drive. So good to be back again.
Man, how I have missed it. I’ve been gone a long time, ever since the strike of 1994 made me wake up and grow up, but I have missed her, old baseball. Being maudlin over what once was and was now lost. The game is different, but it’s better.
Baseball whether it’s in a sandlot or Turner Field, little show or the big show, suspends time and glides on forever. At odd times, I remember old plays I’ve seen in person. I remember great moments where players I’ve admired whether 12 years old or 42 years old have come up big time in the summer sun. Those that have enjoyed those moments hold on to them forever, while we who did not have the courage to stride on the field when it was our time, we watch and envy and preach “The Gospel of the Game.”

PREACHING THE GOSPEL:Ted O’Donnell, “Creator of Champions,” the White Plains Tigers Softball Coach, supervising his new generation of Tigers last week, watches Emily Lettieri hit, preparing for the opening of the season. With O’Donnell at the helm, White Plains has won six of the last seven League 1-A Championships.
Photo by WPCNR SPORTS
It’s a game where failure is the norm, and success is rare achieved only through dedication through a lifetime. It’s a mindgame where you have to outthink your opponent then extend yourself athletically to beat them when they outthink you. It will drive you to be your best, and drive you out of your mind.
It’s a game that takes place in a magical holy place: the ballpark, ballfield, the yard, where juries of brooding upperdecks, ramparts of high walls, and colorful cacophonous advertising signs flash a dazzling scenery of excitement to set off choreographed leaps and feats and throws.
The game is like a winding trail in the West, you never know where the game will take you and what you will see. Nothing is ever a sure thing because the human element is always inspired anew each game. To stride to the plate, take the mound, go to a position, shield your face from the sun, position for a hitter, feel the slap-thwock of baseball or softball hitting weathered leather. To keep your composure after you fail and look to the next at-bat, the next pitch, the next chance, the game demands mental toughness and self-confidence. A game where you have to beat the other fellow or gal, and no clock saves you. It is a game not for the faint of heart or mind. It is a game for the believer.
It is a game that breaks your heart, just like that old girl friend used to do, but we endure the pain for the pleasure of her smile and that thrill of the game that goes on plays out its schedule and always welcomes you back.
This is one of The Game’s high holy days where we take communion again in the playing of the National Anthem, throwing out the first pitch, singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and enjoying a foamy crisp cold golden one even when it’s 45 degrees and the wind off Long Island Sound is blowing in your face.
Filling in the scorecard again. Circling a great play in the scorebox. Counting up the strikeouts and the walks. Arguing over hit or error. Analyzing the pitcher’s motion. Listening to “Beah..heah,” from the vendors in the stands. ( Beer never tastes better than at a ballpark.) Yeah, and as Bogey said, “a hot dog at the game beats roast beef at the Ritz.”
Thanks ball, I needed that.

AROUND COMES THE RIGHT ARM, and Ashley Encarnacio fires the first pitch in a scrimmage Friday for the White Plains Junior Varsity. Ashley fanned 10 in five-inning game with Rye Neck.
Photo by WPCNR SPORTS