I Was Right On Time

Not that I speak from want; for I have learned to be content in whatever circum- stances I am.( Phil 4:11)

I am reading a book entitled I Was Right On Time by Buck O’Neil, a baseball player in America during the days of segregation. Before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier, baseball was divided into two distinct groups, the Major League as we know it today and the Negro Leagues, where Buck and his friends spent most of their careers.

It is an interesting read, full of colorful characters, poignant moments, and lessons of life for all. Some of the greatest ball players ever to play the game hit, fielded, and ran the bases on segregated diamonds. One of the best hitting catchers to ever grace home plate was Josh Gibson, of the mighty Homestead Grays. My dad tells me that his dad, my grandfather, watched Gibson and the Grays ( a team in the Pittsburgh area) a number of times. The guy reminds me so much of Bo Jackson, one of my Auburn alums. Buck O’Neil states that he heard a distinctive crash from a baseball bat hitting a ball only three times in his life, from the bats of Babe Ruth, Josh Gibson, and Bo Jackson. He described that sound like a small stick of dynamite going off.

I loved the comradery that the players had in those days; I am sure it was so necessary to lean on one another to make it in a segregated world. Buck speaks of his old friends like schoolyard chums, and the nicknames! A true term of endearment when someone gives you a nickname! Turkey, Mule, Fox, Ox, Piggy, Bunny, Possum, Groundhog, Rats, Frog, Burro, Early Bird and Goose. And most had some logic behind the name, Turkey, for instance, was a player named Norman Stearns who flapped his arms when he ran. What’s worse is that one nickname wasn’t enough, the 'nickname' for a turkey is a gobbler, so they called him Gobbler too!

I must go on, the names are just too good: Sea Boy, Gunboat, Skin Down, Popsicle, Suitcase and of course Satchel. Biz, Bullet Joe, Smokey Joe, Jewbaby, Copperknee, Ankleball, and my favorite, Cool Papa Bell.

Buck, as well, is a nickname for the writer himself, John Jordan O’Neil Jr., a man who lived in relative obscurity until Ken Burns developed the nine part epic masterpiece, Baseball, for PBS. Buck emerged as a ‘graceful, charming, fatherly voice of America’s national pastime, a living link from the early days of segregated baseball to the game we know today." (From the book sleeve). Buck dedicated his book to his wife of fifty years, "a cheerful and easy-to-love lady".

I think the reason I have so much respect for this great man is in the title of his book. From page 2:
The best thing about the film, (Baseball) though, was that it gave me a chance to tell folks about th Negro leagues, about what a glorious enterprise black baseball was, and about what a wonderful thing baseball is . Back in 1981, at a reunion of us Negro league players in Ashland KY, a young fellow from Sports Illustrated asked me if I had any regrets, coming along as I did before Jackie Robinson integrated the major leagues. And this is what I told him and what I’m telling you now:

There is nothing greater for a human being than to get his body to react to all the things one does on a ballfield. It’s as good as sex; it’s as good as music. It fills you up. Waste no tears for me. I didn’t come along too early–I was right on time.

I found this to be such a tremendous statement—I was right on time. It reminded me so much of the converted Saul, or Paul as he became known. A man who learned to be content in whatever circumstances. And I, too, have concluded that the past is gone, the future is unknown, and the here and now just cannot be wasted thinking about what could have been or what might be!

The writer of the Hebrews tells us: But encourage one another day after day, as long as it is still called "Today", lest any one of you be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. (Heb: 3:13)

If you have heard Buck O’Neil before, you know he is a man who hasn’t been hardened. It is a biblical principle he lives by, one that I think is a good one.

My life–I was right on time.... How about yours?

Steveo plants two tombstones at the plate, in one game!

Blessings,
Mark

Easter Parade

And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. Matt 6:5-6

So sensible, the things Jesus preached. Like today, it seems like the pious folks of his day loved the adulation and attention of the street corner. Modern street corners are our television sets, filled with garish men and women of shallow religiousity getting their reward in full. Jesus made it clear that this type of thing was unimpressive to His Father.

I have shared this before, one of my ‘inner rooms’ is the cab of my truck. I leave for work early to beat the traffic and use this time for prayer, meditation and to hear what God is trying to get through my thick skull. There are times when I just have to find some excuse, like this morning, to just take a ride. I needed to pick up some medicine for our dog at our Vet out in the country, about a 20 minute ride. Perfect. Even burning gas at $2.69 a gallon, it is still a secret place that I cherish; Al Gore you'll just have to excuse me. It gives me time to be alone and meditate on His word, repent for my own selfishness, and reconnect with Him. I'll bet you have a strange prayer closet; I think most people do. I guess mine isn't much of a secret anymore... maybe if you will keep it between us and the Lord...

This morning I began to think and pray about how thankful I was for the life that He has given me through Christ; the sad dichotomy of it all is that it is coupled by a flawed mentality that gets embroiled in the mundane and unimportant, those things that I think are so real and crucial. I call it ground clutter. A false echo. It takes a "road trip’ to straighten me out sometimes. The scripture that seems to speak to me in such a personal way in times like this is when Jesus simply asked his disciples: "But who do you say that I am?" (Matt 16:15) It ran through my mind this morning, the same question addressed to me, "Mark, who do you say that I am?" My answer for over 30 years has been like Peter's, "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the Living God." When I come face to face with that question, things begin to change...rapidly.

I noticed some wild dogwoods lining the interstate and my mind drifted to a time in 1988, a few years after we moved to Montgomery. We had finally saved enough money for a down payment on that first home. We did it through much prayer, and also a lot of hard work. Annie and I found a neat little home nestled in one of the older neighborhoods of Montgomery, one noted for the azaleas and dogwoods.

Even though the neighbor- hood is about 10 miles away, I rarely go over there, as it is off the beaten path. But I do make an annual pilgrimage during spring to remember. The azaleas remind me of the faithfulness of God, the constant in His universe, that almost to the day every year the beautiful explosion of color breaks forth in the Dalraida neighborhood of Montgomery, AL. It is my version of the Easter Parade.

These pictures are not the best in the world, as I was driving and snapping simultaneously, but it gives you some indication of what the old stomping grounds look like. Great neighborhood to this day. The place where my son was born, the backyard that we wore out hitting and fielding grounders. Great memories.

Back to the truck...it was then that I began to realize how thankful I was for the life He had given me. But how easily I lose that focus! To get wrapped up in the minutiae and lose site of the Master. It is an intriguing mystery that you can be extremely grateful and filled with humility and introspection at the same time. I somehow think, however, that it may be the ballast that keeps my ship on even keel. And my truck between the lines.

Happy Easter to all from the Mad Hatter.

My Friends across the border in Georgia know how to do it right! Check out the photo page from Callaway Gardens .