Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

#1587 - Thursday, October 17, 2003 - Editor: Jerry

Expand Messages
  • Jerry Katz
    #1587 - Thursday, October 16, 2003 - Editor: Jerry, based on an idea by Christiana Duranczyk, who also provided key links. This issue is dedicated to BASEBALL.
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 17, 2003
    • 0 Attachment
      #1587 - Thursday, October 16, 2003 - Editor: Jerry, based on an idea by Christiana Duranczyk, who also provided key links.
       
      This issue is dedicated to BASEBALL. Saturday the World Series begins.
       

       
      Here's the only one that only baseball fans would 'get' as it refers to what happened just the other night:
       
      An ode to Aaron...

      From longtime Sportspages.com friend Chris Visser,
      with apologies to Ernest Thayer:

      Oh somewhere in this favored land the sun will soon shine bright,
      And kids will play with reckless glee from dawn to dusk each night.
      And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
      But there is no joy in Beantown - Aaron Boone just hit one out.
       

       
      Satchel Paige
       
       
      " Age is a question of mind over matter. If you don’t mind,
        it doesn’t matter."
       
      " Ain’t no man can avoid being born average, but there ain’t
        no man got to be common."
       
      " I never threw an illegal pitch. The trouble is, once in a
        while I would toss one that ain’t never been seen by this
        generation."
       
      " Just take the ball and throw it where you want to. Throw
        strikes. Home plate don’t move."
       
      " They said I was the greatest pitcher they ever saw…I
        couldn’t understand why they couldn’t give me no justice."
       
      " Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you."
       
      " Don't pray when it rains if you don't pray when the sun
        shines."
       
      " How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?"
       
      " Money and women. They're two of the strongest things in the
        world. The things you do for a woman you wouldn't do for
        anything else. Same with money."
       
      " Work like you don't need the money. Love like you've never
        been hurt. Dance like nobody's watching."
       
      " You win a few, you lose a few. Some get rained out. But you
        got to dress for all of them."
       
      " My pitching philosophy is simple; you gotta keep the ball
        off the fat part of the bat."
       
      " I never had a job. I always played baseball."
       
      " Mother always told me, if you tell a lie, always rehearse
        it. If it don't sound good to you, it won't sound good to
        no one else."
       

       
      BASEBALL: THE HERO'S JOURNEY
       
      Joseph Campbell found that all the hero myths of all the
      people of the world of all time were basically one myth, the
      work of the human psyche. Carl Jung called this a "monomyth"
      and believed it to be the work of a "collective
      unconsciousness." We present here in Joseph Campbell's own
      words the way he identified the monomyth of the hero. We have
      used Mickey Mantle as an example of a baseball hero, to lend
      some specifics that will make the connection between Joseph
      Campbell's work and the world of baseball. Each hero's story
      varies in appearance, but beneath the individualized
      dressings lie the same bare-bones: the the monomyth presented
      here. These stories lead to little more than hero-worship
      unless they awaken something inside us. This is the value
      then of the hero stories. They are to help us to realize:
      "Each of us is destined to become the hero in at least one
      story -- our own."
       
      Editor's note: please visit the following webpage. Great photos and a nice education on Campbell's concept of the monomyth of the hero, using Mickey Mantle as an example: 
      Photo of Mickey Mantle
       

       
      You can catch the prize with a runner rounding third,
      But you can't keep it in your glove.
      You can try to get an edge with drugs,
      But you can't keep it sharp.
      You can load the bases,
      But you can't keep it a secret.
      You can act arrogant, when you're ahead in the count,
      But you can't keep from getting one in your ear.
      Play your heart out, then hit the showers.
      This is the Elysian Way.
       
       

       
       
      Yogi Berra said:
       
      " It ain't over 'til it's over "
       
      " Never answer an anonymous letter"
       
      " I usually take a two hour nap from one to four"
       
      " It's deja vu all over again"
       
      " When you come to a fork in the road....Take it "
       
      " I didn't really say everything I said "
       
      " You can observe a lot by watching "
       
      When asked what time is was......" you mean now?"
       
      At Yogi Berra day in St Louis 1947 " I want to thank you for
      making this day necessary"
       
      " If the world were perfect, it wouldn't be "
       
      Yogi on the 1969 NY Mets....." overwhelming underdogs "
       
      " If the people don't want to come out to the ballpark,
        nobody's going to stop them "
       
      On why NY lost the 1960 series to Pittsburgh " We made to
      many wrong mistakes"
       
      " The future ain't what it used to be "
       
      " It gets late early out here"
       

       
      From Highlights Issue #5
       
      If Yogi Berra were asked, "Can you apply neti-neti to the game of
      baseball?", how might he respond? Any suggestions?
       
      The game is not the bat, nor is it the ball, nor the crowd, nor the
      bases, nor the field, nor the word "baseball" or the concept of
      baseball. There is no perceivable game being played. Rather, something
      else underlying the nature of reality is projecting all these things.
      That something else is and is not baseball. The ball does not fly
      through the air; rather, it is the mind that flies. Thus, baseball is
      meditation.
      ---Tim Gerchmez
       
      There is no winner nor a looser
      Just a perceiving happy boozer
      Comments the Zen-dog in disguise
      And he's a dog that's very wise.
      By looking at that funny game
      He sees what really makes the fame
      There's neither fame nor a disgrace
      All players have a dollar face.
      Zen-dog says "love children's play
      Their mind is fluid, doesn't stay.
      It moves like water, like a flow
      And where their mind is, there they go"
      ---Jan Barendrecht
       

       
      Two great pitchers in a lineup. So good in fact that someone
      took the time to write a poem about them.
       
       
      Spahn & Sain
      by Gerald V. Hern © 
      Published: Boston Post (09-14-1948)

       
      First we'll use Spahn
      then we'll use Sain
      Then an off day
      followed by rain
      Back will come Spahn
      followed by Sain
      And followed
      we hope
      by two days of rain.
       

       
      Life
      by Jim 'Mudcat' Grant ©
       
      Life is like a game of baseball,
      You play it every day.
      It isn't just the breaks you get,
      But the kind of game you play.
       
      So stop and look your whole team over,
      And you'll find dedication there.
      You're bound to be a winner,
      With men who really care.
       
      Your pitcher's name is courage,
      You need him in the game.
      For faith and trust your keystone men,
      The grounders they will tame.
       
      Your center fielder is very fast,
      Though small and hard to see.
      So watch him, son, when he gets,
      The ball he's opportunity.
       
      In left field there's ambition,
      Never let him shirk.
      For in right field there's a husky man,
      I'm told his name is work.
       
      At first base there's religion,
      He's stood the test of time.
      At third base there's brotherhood,
      The stalwart of the nine.
       
      Your catcher's name is humor,
      He's important to the scheme.
      For with honor warming in the bull pen,
      The game is always clean.
       
      With love on the bench,
      You've perfection no less.
      With a winning team,
      And joy and happiness.
       
      Your other team is strong, son,
      Greed, hatred, envy and defeat.
      Are for strong infielders,
      You'll have to buck to make your game complete.
       
      Deceitfulness and a man called waste,
      Are always playing hard.
      Selfishness and jealousy,
      None can you disregard.
       
      Carelessness and falsehood,
      Are the big boys in the pen.
      You'll have to swing hard, son,
      When you come up to them.
       
      There's one more man you'll have to watch,
      He's always very near.
      He's the pitcher on that team,
      And I'm told his name is fear.
       
      This game will not be easy,
      There'll be trouble, there'll be strife.
      To make the winning runs, my boy,
      For this game is played on the field of life.
       
      So stand behind your team, my boy,
      There'll be many who'll applaud.
      Just remember that you're the player,
      And the umpire here is God.
       
       
      To Buddhists the first step to enlightenment is knowing that
      life is suffering and recognizing that it is our attachments
      of greed, fear, power, sex, wealth and fame that helps toward
      our unhappiness. In such ways one can be to attached to the
      game of baseball. For instance there are baseball players
      that are selfish and greedy for recognition. As a player you
      can focus too much on the outcomes than the process, like
      being to attached to statistics and batting averages. By
      placing too much of an emphasis on those fame seeking desires
      you are placing yourself at risk of a slump or just being
      unhappy. So the same goes for both Buddhism and baseball,
      disregard the desires and become a winner.
      --Natalie Farmer
       

       
      Casey At The Bat
      by Ernest L. Thayer
       
      The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day,
      The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
       
      And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
      A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
       
      A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
      The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
      They thought, "if only Casey could but get a whack at that.
      We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
       
      But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake;
      and the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake.
       
      So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat;
      for there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
       
      But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all.
      And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball.
       
      And when the dust had lifted,
      and men saw what had occurred,
      there was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
       
      Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
      it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
       
      it pounded through on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat;
      for Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
       
      There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,
      there was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
       
      And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
      no stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Casey at the bat.
       
      Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
      Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
       
      Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
      defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
       
      And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
      and Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
       
      Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
      "That ain't my style," said Casey.
       
      "Strike one!" the umpire said.
      From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
      like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
       
      "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand,
      and it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
       
      With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's visage shone,
      he stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on.
       
      He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew,
      but Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
       
      "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
      But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
       
      They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
      and they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
       
      The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate.
      He pounds, with cruel violence, his bat upon the plate.
       
      And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
      and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
       
      Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
      The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
      And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout,
       
      but there is no joy in Mudville --
      mighty Casey has struck out.
       

       
      Regarding the Baseball Strike
       
      The year after the baseball strike I was in Los Angeles and
      was offered front row tickets right next to the left field
      dugout. Suddenly all my frustration about the strike and all
      those thoughts about how I'll never watch another baseball
      game, went out the window. "Front row seats, huh? Umm ...
      okay!"
       
      Me and my best friend went to see the Los Angeles Dodgers
      play the Atlanta Braves.
       
      It was opening day and the players were very friendly. Before
      the game started they were talking to kids in the stands,
      smiling at fans. They were trying to make up for the strike,
      which caused the previous year's World Series to be
      cancelled. Fans were pretty pissed.
       
      One kid was in full Dodger uniform and thrilled to be talking
      to the players. He stood for the essential joy of the whole
      institution of baseball, and especially the joy of his own
      self.
       
      I felt his joy and everywhere I turned I felt it, and in
      every breath of stadium air. The baseball in all its orbits
      -- grass high, waist high, sky high -- that white ball is
      concentrated joy because the whole game is about the presence
      of the white ball.
       
      Sometimes the ball gets hit to you. This day Chipper Jones
      lined a foul ball right into my bare hands. The ball bounced
      out, but heck, even major leaguers drop line drives, right?
       
      When that ball comes to you, you see it coming and it comes.
      It might slap your palm, sting, and fly out. But you've
      touched it. You know it. You've seen the ball is not only
      white but as it spins there is a tinge of red in the cloud of
      its spin.
       
      Then for a fraction of a second as the ball slaps your hand
      you see the white ball is embossed with a red seam. The red
      seam, the ball flying away, the river of blood within the
      perfect thing that is you, the realization that you've
      collided with yourself ... and joy flying off everywhere.
       
      --Jerry Katz
       
       

       
       
      Take Me Out to the Ball Game!
       
      This song was written in 1908 by a man named Jack Norworth.
      One day when he was riding a New York City subway train, he
      spotted a sign that said "Ballgame Today at the Polo
      Grounds." Some baseball-related lyrics popped into his head,
      that were later set to some music by Albert Von Tilzer, to
      become the well known baseball song, "Take Me Out To The
      Ballgame." Despite the fact that neither Norworth or Tilzer
      had ever been to a baseball game at the time the song was
      written, it is one of the most widely sung songs in America.
      (1927 version)
       
      Nelly Kelly loved baseball games,
      Knew the players, knew all their names,
      You could see her there ev'ry day,
      Shout "Hurray" when they'd play.
      Her boy friend by the name of Joe
      Said, "To Coney Isle, dear, let's go,"
      Then Nelly started to fret and pout,
      And to him I heard her shout.
       
      "Take me out to the ball game,
      Take me out with the crowd.
      Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
      I don't care if I never get back,
      Let me root, root, root for the home team,
      If they don't win it's a shame.
      For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
      At the old ball game."
       
      Nelly Kelly was sure some fan,
      She would root just like any man,
      Told the umpire he was wrong,
      All along, good and strong.
      When the score was just two to two,
      Nelly Kelly knew what to do,
      Just to cheer up the boys she knew,
      She made the game sing this song.
       
      "Take me out to the ball game,
      Take me out with the crowd.
      Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
      I don't care if I never get back,
      Let me root, root, root for the home team,
      If they don't win it's a shame.
      For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
      At the old ball game."
       
      Now click below to hear the music!
      http://www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyrics/ballgame.htm
       

       
      A nondualist ordering a hot dog at the stadium:
       
      "Make me one with everything."
       
       


      home run trot—
      the batter's eyes a tape
      measuring the distance

      ~ ~ ~

      squeeze play
      umpire whisk brooming
      home plate

      ~ ~ ~

      intentional walk
      each fan winding up
      his own boo

      haikus by Bud Goodrich. Read more: http://www.millikin.edu/haiku/writerprofiles/CardenOnGoodrich.html

      go yankees!
    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.