A lost season

A lost season.

Or, is there hope?

My previous blog post was about one man's dilemma and his journey toward a couple of milestones only a few elite professional baseball players could ever envision...reaching a career goal in runs-batted-in and in home runs. A lofty numbers game only a select few can play.

Albert Pujols.

Like Pujols and all the major league players, they currently sit..and wait. There's more important things to consider right now: life and death. The only numbers flickering higher and higher on the black...and bleak scoreboard has to do with the coronavirus, a virus currently sweeping the country...steam rolling to a city near you.

It's almost silly to worry about America's Favorite Pastime right now. Yet, the citizens of the United States, and the world for that matter, search for a glimmer of hope, a signal of normalcy to come.

A rumor, or was it our president's way -- during a conference call to all the sports commissioners today,  to provide a date -- a precious date...a date when those beautiful words "play ball" can be heard across our nation.  A "false spring" -- a return to sports on a sunny day in August. Maybe the gates will open...maybe a short season will follow with empty stadiums and all baseball fans will be  glued to their television sets at home.

It's the fourth day of April and my mind continues to wander...looking for a ray of hope.

A false spring?  I remember those words from the epic Western: The Shootist...and the words spoken by Lauren Bacall as she said her goodbyes to John Wayne, just moments before J.B. Books boards the trolley for his final showdown with Richard Boone, Hugh O'Brian and Bill McKinney.

What is true? What is real? John Wayne is out there amongst us everyday now. I tune into the Western channels daily.  On the screen, I watch Red River...The Shootist...and The Searchers.

It's the 1800s on the screen. It's the 1950s...or maybe the 1960s... and then I turn to the news channels and it is 2020.

Photo: The author at home in quarantine.