More Baseball

Some of us were talking about why anyone would be a baseball fan at all these days: the greed, the stratospheric salaries, trades made so often you don't know who plays for whom. A correspondent - an intense movie fan - reminds me of that speech at the end of Field of Dreams. Oh, yeah. That's a good 'un. There's a germ of a reason here. Herewith:


Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't
even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why
they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children,
longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around,
you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money
without even thinking about it: for it's money they have and peace they
lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a
perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along
one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered
their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they
dipped themselves in magic waters. And the memories will be so thick
they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray.
The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America
has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a
blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.
This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of
all that once was good and it could be again. Oh,.. people will come
Ray. People will most definitely come.