The Column: Baseball binds not just summer, but family

Summer is flying, which is what summer does, and here we are midway through.

"Phew," says a teacher. "Don’t mention it."

Soon enough there will be staff meetings and lesson plans and parent conferences and the familiar reminder to seventh graders that social studies relates to the Continental Congress and Bill of Rights, not Snapchat, Instagram or TikTok.

For those of advanced age, calendar-creep can be alarming under the best circumstances, but the quick pace of summer is apt to prompt unusual wistfulness and tempt an early autumn chill.

"Mmm, I love summer," sighs my wife, clipping basil leaves for another batch of pesto. "Just that it goes so fast. A shame."

Maybe, but without summer there’d be no baseball, and then what would we do?

Far more than sun and surf and lavender martinis on a deck where small, winged insects are sure to invade your high-priced air space, baseball is our reward for a season so keen to depart.

It is solace for the terrifying prospect of gasping leaf blowers and television ads where the husband buys two vehicles as a Christmas surprise only to find his wife wants the pickup, leaving hubby with the dutiful but dull SUV.

Not everyone loves baseball, and that is fine. Makes no difference. Even if you think "caught stealing" means a couple of years in the clink and wonder how often the bullpen is cleaned, baseball

enfolds us, one and all.

In delis, bars and convenience stores, the game is on. The gas station is blasting sports radio. Fans are lamenting the ump’s lousy call or firing the manager or trading the slumping star with the fancy hairdo who’d be better off spending more time in the batting cage than the unisex salon.

Tabloids carry urgent headlines that otherwise might accompany stories on war and peace. "Mets Saved from Disaster." "Depleted Yankees No Match for Red Sox." "Season on the Line."

At the ballfield down the road, even old guys are playing — fellows with gray beards and knee braces and creaky throwing arms that suggest they’ll go home at the end of the game and apply extra-strength hemp pain relief.

Baseball, ubiquitous.

For a recent birthday, my kids gave me a memory book with remarks from friends and family. People fibbed so extravagantly I wondered if they were recalling me or the Dalai Lama. Both sons cited reasons I may escape charges as a delinquent parent. No. 1: Baseball.

"In Blue Point, there was a little field before the beach," said one, recalling our long-ago South Shore days. "Dad and I always had catches there."

His younger brother agreed. "Summertime baseball catches," topped his list. "To be resumed," he added optimistically. (Pass that pain cream, please.)

I think baseball claims the American imagination because, like the country, it has equal measures of steadiness and surprise.

Just when you’re ready to doze off, there’s a triple in the gap or terrific catch against the wall. When it comes to everyday life, we mostly get along, no matter what you hear. There can be commotion, for sure, and sometimes, combustion, but things usually settle down and, there we are, all on our feet, singing, "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."

At the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, visitors watch a short video before touring the exhibits. There’s archival footage of great moments and remarks by some of the game’s most memorable players.

"Baseball, it’s in your soul, man," says pitcher Dennis Eckersley. "It’s just in your soul and you know it. You just know it."

I was at the Hall of Fame a couple weeks ago with three of our kids, now well into middle age — the two boys and one of our daughters, who played Little League Baseball, only girl on the team way back when.

We drove up one day and back the next — a beautiful ride, along the Taconic State Parkway and then west to Cooperstown on the shores of dreamy Otsego Lake. We soaked up the nostalgia, swapped stories with strangers and headed home saying hooray for the national pastime.

We remembered Eckersley’s comment and knew it went beyond baseball.

Doesn’t matter what the season, as long as something’s in your soul.