It is hard to believe that it was only seven years ago when George W. Bush threw out the ceremonial first pitch in Yankee stadium to a deafening cacophony of "U.S.A! U.S.A!" It was one of those memorable T.V. moments in history so pregnant with pathos that anyone–regardless of political party or sports team affiliation–who was near a television screen to witness the pageantry of stars and stripes unfold, couldn't help but put hand to heart. It was also yet another example of why baseball, a sport that has not only endured, but been intimately touched by crippling economic depressions, the blurriness of segregation's end, and two world wars, has always been considered not merely America's game, but its greatest past time.
Fast forward to opening day 2008, now five years into the Iraq war. While breaking the bottle on the mast of the National's opulent new ball park, baseball shows, to a sold out stadium and nationally televised audience, that it still has its dependable finger, acutely, on the pulse of prevailing American sentiment. You could almost choke on the symbolism. Washington's still fledgling team against America's long time premiere team playing in our nation's capital; A former baseball team owner turned leader of the free world who has been accused of perhaps too often approaching the duties of the latter with the mindset of the former. The stage was set, once again. The outcome, this time, however: a sad, stark contrast to 2001. The fans had clearly had enough of his pitches.
As our president walked out to the mound, his cowboy swagger in full throttle mode, conspicuously absent were the patriotic cheers of yesteryear–in their place, a torrent of boos. So unmistakable, in fact, was the message reigning down on the field, Bush, for a fleeting moment, looked almost…effected. As he stood alone on the mound, no secret service agents or photographers or Dick Cheneys within the frame, you could almost hear the crisp snap of a single flashbulb, a snapshot–perhaps the snapshot–distilling Bush's presidency and imminent legacy within our plasma screens of a man who was willing to go it alone, undeterred, no matter what. Amidst ardent dissent from senators, congressmen, generals, polls, and even the literal envelopment of tens of thousands of vociferous dissenting fans, he peered in at the plate, wound up, and threw the baseball. It was a little high, but it made it. With a grin, he walked off the perfectly manicured virgin field as assuredly as walked onto it and disappeared into the tunnel beneath the red glow of the exit sign.
Moments later, the players took the field. A few moments after that,
Odalis Perez threw out the real first pitch to
Kelly Johnson, a strike. The fans erupted. The game had seen Bush come and go twice and was ready to continue.