The 58th verse of the Tao Te Ching tells us of the fundamental unity of good and bad: 

Misery!—happiness is to be found by its side! Happiness!—misery lurks beneath it! Who knows what either will come to in the end? 

First, ballplayers must focus on the moment. They must live in the Now. They bring to that Now the accumulated experience of the past: what arsenal the pitcher commands, how they have fared against his stuff in the past, what the particular game situation suggests the pitcher might choose to throw, how they’re feeling that day. But all that—plus the troubles they’re having at home or how tired they feel from the afternoon’s charity function—must be set aside as they focus on the pitch.

In other words, playing baseball is mindful living. It is a meditation. 

In fairness, other sports similarly promote focus on the Now. Athletes from swimmers and golfers, who perform alone, to football players, who execute an individual role within a team scheme, recognize that they can only win through a long series of immediate actions, each of which must be faced individually. But baseball, with far more plays (hundreds of pitches a game) requires that focus with unrelenting frequency.  

Second, baseball is rife with failure. As is often noted, even the best hitters fail seventy percent of the time. (And pitchers, in this era of inflated ERAs, fail to prevent the other team from scoring half of the innings they pitch.) In baseball, even the best athletes have failure thrown in their faces again and again and again. Only by keeping their balance, only by staying on an even keel, can they steel themselves to try again. 

Third, a baseball  season, like life, is a marathon. The grind of 162 games over six-plus months demands patience and resilience. Football is a game of emotion (and intense study). Players spend a week recovering from the bruises and strains of the last contest and then psyching themselves for the next one. Baseball players must take the field each day, ready to forget yesterday’s error that cost the team the game or the homer that won it. And they must do this day in and day out, five to seven days a week, week after week. They cannot wallow in self-pity or live off past glory. Each day presents a new challenge.  

The length of the baseball season reflects life in another way. Because the baseball season is long, there are many opportunities to recover from a poor start and gain ground in the standings—or to stumble and watch your lead dwindle. Football seasons go by so quickly that an early loss or a stinging defeat to a divisional foe can doom a team. In baseball, there’s always tomorrow, at least for most of the year. You may need to find some inner reserve to make that final kick, but slow and steady gets you far toward winning the race. In baseball, each day is an opportunity, as in life each day is a chance to redeem yourself, to start anew. 

And so, as ballplayers prepare for each day’s challenge, they repeat the mantras from which they draw mental strength. “Take the season one game at a time.” “You can’t get too high up, and you can’t get too far down.” “You can’t lead off an inning and try to hit a three-run homer.” “I have to play within myself.”  

These clubhouse clichés all reflect the mental discipline, the Taosit balance, that baseball demands. As that great baseball Yogi taught, “Baseball is 90 percent mental; the other half is physical.”  

Words © 2009 AtHome Pilgrim

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