MEDIA WHORES

A creaky door leads up into the storage attic with a short climb up soft pine stairs. A lone light bulb flickers on to reveal a cornucopia of personal treasures that reduce decades into neat little morsels of dust-covered boxes. Sitting, digging through endless transcripts I come across the target of my search which is housed tightly in another container. The fragile hinges of the wooden box open slowly to reveal perfectly preserved mementos of an impossible era. I pull out these little gems; they feel fresh, even crisp as if just rolled up in my hands like the first time, so long, long ago. Flipping through, the cherished past is the present … but soon enough I put them back, tie them up well and secure them back in their little tomb and climb down the steps.

Sitting back in a soft leather chair it seems those moments were only yesteryear. A short-sleeved crowd draws in the game played in the honey-sweet springtime air with a flag proudly billowing in the wind. The smell of fresh “dogs” and toma-esque mowed lawns is the aroma of choice for the fans and families that gather. A not-so-lazy fly ball is gracefully pulled-in by an aging, noble legend and an easy forgettable day lives for eternity. It was so simple, so perfect – honestly it was.

But long ago is so far away. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe this memory of a world where an honest handshake meant something, of integrity being of value and sport adding value to our society is just some dreamscape revisionist history to mask the putrid stench that now emits from the drug-sport it has become. What was once so perfect is now so vacant of its history and has been tortured by a shadowy serpentine-like worship of the greenback. As changing America leapt forward some thirty or so years ago, the marketing whores came in on a wing and a swoosh and branded the whole damn countryside. Now, truth is a well-greased handshake as the media ad executives ensure that every negative comment of some corporate spokesperson is downplayed because you don’t want to offend the anchor clients. And the whoring of this game keeps on keeping on and every ounce of integrity and values get sucked dry from the nation’s sporting soul. Issues keep getting swept under the table, principles are forgotten and the grand game no longer is the game, just ad copy to pimp another billion dollar deal. Image, truly is everything to people now, as principles went up for sale a long time ago like a “johnny” dealing smack on the corner.

But if my vision of this great game of baseball is a dream, I’m going to keep it just like that. Wrapped up tight and safely stowed away for another generation to unearth after the dust settles on me. Those memories of a trotting Mantle in pinstripes and an older Say-Hey flagging down balls in Candlestick. Those are the memories I have of this great game, when a flag flew proudly above short-sleeved crowds. When the game represented a hard-working people, drive and perseverance and bled through our veins with honor and integrity. It was a time when legends were men we were proud of not the pumped-up juice whores working for another corporate giant of today. That may be a bit rough for some to read through but it is reality and it’s time to take back this game and re-live its greatness.