Play Ball!

The Wisdom of Occasional Obliviousness

I watched a lot of baseball last month. (To be clear: I watched a lot of baseball for me.) After the Phillies were eliminated in post-season play, I embraced those scrappy Toronto Blue Jays and followed them all the way to the heartbreaking eleventh inning of game seven of the World Series.

A curious thing happens to me when I’m watching baseball.  I don’t exactly forget which team I’m rooting for, but occasionally I do cheer at the wrong time. Sometimes, when the “other” side pulls off a spectacularly good play or “my” side makes an egregious error, I respond in a way that causes my husband to shoot me a baffled look.

I could blame it on the change of uniforms from home to away, or on my divided attention. But maybe it’s something more human. The player diving into a stolen base with a quarter inch to spare deserves my admiration, just as the player running backwards to catch the ball but losing it in the lights deserves my sympathy. In that moment of relief or disappointment, the categories of “us and them” dissolve. I’m happy for the guy; I’m sorry for the other guy, even if I’m not “supposed” to be.

In Fr. Greg Boyle’s new book, Cherished Belonging, the Jesuit founder of Homeboy Industries says that God’s dream for the world would be to replace “Us VS. Them” with “Nobody VS. Anybody.” Perhaps that’s what Saint Paul was getting at when he encouraged us to “rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).

No Us and Them, just Us. This is, indeed, God’s dream come true.

Fr. Greg Boyle, SJ

In these polarizing times, it is so easy to demonize the “other side” (whichever side of whatever thing that happens to be for us). But can we also recognize goodness or sorrow, even in people whose views and actions we abhor? Can we acknowledge flaws and blind spots, even in people pursuing causes dear to our hearts? Can we forget—just for a moment—who we’re supposed to be rooting for, and simply be humans together?

Nobody VS. Anybody is a tall order. Most days, I’m not there; I’m too angry at politicians and corporations who put job security and profits ahead of human decency, and who gin up enemies for people to fear in order to keep us pitted against one another. That’s why I’m grateful to baseball: for providing the occasional moments of obliviousness that allow me to glimpse how God’s dream might be possible.