I would be remiss in my duties as a leading children’s book, music and mime critic if I did not address the current “situation” with the New York Metropolitans baseball club.
As I write this on Wednesday night, my great-granddaughter is sleeping, blissfully unaware that her team squandered a lead to the ursine squad from Chicago and then failed to score despite having runners on third in the seventh, eighth and ninth frames.
The indignity of rooting for these futile failures is too much to bear. Or is it?
Indeed, as a father, grandfather and now, great-grandfather, I find myself constantly reminding my descendents that rooting for losers is far better for the soul than jumping on that year’s bandwagon, no matter how teeming it is with happy, smiling people.
Growing up, of course, my admiration for the Dodgers taught me the most valuable lesson in life: “Wait ’til next year” is a nice slogan, but next year doesn’t always come. This is a lesson that was never absorbed by fans of the Bronx Yankees, and it was no surprise that those kids grew up completely incapable of dealing with disappointment.
So when my great-granddaughter wakes up, I will tell her about Daniel Murphy’s bottom-of-the-ninth leadoff triple that the Mets squandered. I will tell her that it is unlikely that the Mets will qualify for the post-season. And she will learn that things don’t always go the way we wish they would go.
That said, can’t somebody just hit a fly ball?
