Take me out to the Ballgame by Jaclyn Mahoney

Baltimore Hub, Maryland, USA Originally from Turnersville, New Jersey, USA

Camden Yards, where the Baltimore Orioles play baseball, is an hour walk from my house. Tomorrow is forecast to be warm and sunny. The Orioles are scheduled to play the Rays at 7:10pm.

What I wouldn’t give to walk to that game —

past the familiar school yards where kids are playing basketball;

through my old neighborhood where I’d hope, by chance, to exchange pleasantries with an old neighbor;

and up to the ticket window where I’d wink at a fellow baseball fan as I fib, telling her I’m a student. She wouldn’t be fooled. She’d just roll her eyes, give me a discounted student ticket, and tell me to enjoy a beer with the extra money in my pocket.

Then, in the seventh inning, I would stand up and sing “Take me out to the Ballgame” with thousands of other people, bonded by our love for a simple game, in spirit with generations of baseball fans who’ve sung that feminist anthem.

But that game, like so much else, has been canceled.

-–

“Some things are more important than sports.” I hear that sentence often. Hell, I say that sentence often. It’s become a refrain, meant to assuage the shame of feeling loss for sports when others have lost so much more. Yet recently, the loss I feel for sports has escalated to a constant ache.

I ache for athletes who didn’t get to play their seasons. I ache not only for college athletes and Olympic athletes whose communities and lives have been disrupted, but also for kids. For many young people, sports are an escape, a safe place. And on a more fundamental level, playing sports is good for kids.

I ache for fans who feel isolated. In a world filled with constant reminders of how much divides us, sports remind us that we’re connected. In addition to bonding connections formed via sports, sports provide a valuable opportunity for bridging connections, everything from meeting a new friend in the stands to setting the stage for diplomacy.

I ache because I know sports are imperfect. The sports landscape is littered with barriers to access and inclusion. The good work that can be done through sports is often undermined by -isms — the same -isms that led to the inequities exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic.

There are good people fighting for accessibility, inclusion, and equity in sport. On my best days, I count myself among them. We fight to ensure all who want to partake in the health benefits and communities provided by sports can do so. I ache because many of our efforts have been canceled, just like the Orioles-Rays game on Friday.

What I wouldn’t give to walk to that game.