Godless Mom in the Bible Belt

Friday night I experienced America at her best, I went to a baseball game.

Walking into Minute Maid Park is like taking a step into OZ. It is a temple built to the baseball gods, an Emerald City that sells hot dogs. The grass is green, the seats are green, even the girders in the retractable roof are green. The building feels like it is alive and the crowds that fill it's seats are the blood in it's veins and the breath in it's voice.

It was the Astros and the Dodgers, Roger Clemens was pitching. In front of me sat an elderly couple, both with hearing aides, both with binoculars. To my left sat a family of Dodgers fans, swallowed in a sea of Astros wear. Behind me four generations of the same family, each one with their own opinion on the calls made by the umpires.

The roof was closed because of the heat outside and I occasionally saw a pigeon or sparrow who had flown in while the roof was open and was waiting until it could once again taste freedom. The entire place smelled of stadium food; pretzels, hot dogs, nachos and beer, and people who would normally show dietary restraint were engaged in a no-holds-barred pig fest.

Thoughts of the London attacks were fresh in my mind as I surveyed the crowd. Here were Americans, packed together shoulder to shoulder. Every race on the planet was represented, every religion and political leaning were in attendance. Crunchy granola types smiled in conversation with Southern Baptist preachers, cowboys sat next to black youth in FUBU fashion and gold chains, there were smiles all around and a shared humor when souvenirs were thrown into the crowd and everyone would scramble for the cheesy t-shirts or the squishy Astros ball.

There we were, truly "One nation, indivisible." united in our love of baseball. At football games there is always a lot of beer and a focus on tailgating, in hockey there is the anticipation of violence which clouds the community, and basketball is just too damned loud. But baseball? It truly is America at her best, at her most united.

My thoughts couldn't help but return to another game I attended a few years ago. The nation had just changed dramatically and America was in shock but was the recipient of the love and compassion of the world. It was the first time we had ever taken Liz to a baseball game, she was six months old. It was the Astros and the Giants and Barry Bonds was on track to break the all time home run record. The game hadn't occurred on schedule, it had been postponed a few days. The date on my original ticket read September 11, 2001.

It seems that terrorism and baseball will forever be tied in my mind. Humanity at it's best and humanity at it's worst.