Dad, Baseball, And The Phillies

By Deacon Mike Manno

(The Wanderer) – As I write this, we are all awaiting the returns from the mid-term elections. When they come in, I’m sure there will be a lot of time to ponder what it all means, and I’m equally sure there will be pundits aplenty to explain it all to us.

But for now, I’d like to go back to last week when we celebrated the feasts of All Saints and All Souls, and — at least for me — watched the Philadelphia Phillies in the World Series.

Now you might wonder why a guy who grew up in Des Moines, Iowa, would be so excited about an East Coast team from Philadelphia. It’s very simple, both my parents were from there. My dad was from South Philly — think Dick Clark and Bandstand — and my mother was from Roxborough-Manayunk, next to the Schuylkill River. My dad was a printer who had his own print shop in Philadelphia before he was forced to sell to the city.

He then took a job in Richmond, Va., where they lived for about a year and it was during that time I was born. He was finally offered a job in Des Moines as a superintendent of an envelope manufacturing firm and moved my mom and the 15-week-old me to Iowa.

Every year we would take our vacation in Philly and Atlantic City where we would visit relatives, see the city, and bask in the sun. My dad took me all over, Independence Hall, all the historic sites, and even Admiral Dewey’s flagship from the Battle of Manila Bay, the Olympia (“You may fire when ready, Gridley”), which was in the Philadelphia Naval Yard. In the gift shop Dad bought me a model of the Olympia which I took back to Iowa, built, and displayed in my bedroom for as long as I can remember.
We rode the subway, trolley, and any other conveyance there that wasn’t in Des Moines, as we did in Atlantic City and especially on the Boardwalk (“Watcha wheel, Watcha wheel”).

But the one thing he always talked about was Connie Mack and the Philadelphia Athletics. The A’s were the city’s American League team until it moved to Kansas City in 1954. The city’s National League team was, of course, the Phillies. Even though he knew more Connie Mack stories, he was also a fan of the Phillies and would often take me to their games when we were there. He was a big baseball fan and every morning before work he would cut the standings from the paper to post at work.

I remember how we both suffered through the end of the 1964 season when Phillies’ Manager Gene Mauch blew a five and a half game lead in the last two weeks by changing the rotation of his pitching staff, according to Dad.

Anyway, he taught me a lot about baseball and life, and we lost him just as I was completing college — a day he was looking forward to since no one in the family had ever attended college before.

So, this year the Phillies, in improbable fashion, made it to the playoffs and finally into the World Series.
But there was something that made this year different from the rest. First, I was home and got to watch all the play-off games from there; last year I saw the World Series from a hospital bed and not a very comfortable one at that. I had just suffered a stroke, apparently a mild one, and could not talk or make sense with my conversation for several days. Naturally it was during that “babbling phase” when my bishop came to visit me.

But the difference from hospital bed to easy chair at home also reminded me how lucky I was in such a rapid recovery, I’m here, alive, and well. My only lasting effect is that while I can see, for some reason, I cannot read. That curbs my activities somewhat. Obviously, I cannot practice law if I cannot read, but I still can serve at the altar if the priest and lector can read my parts.

I even do my weekly hospital runs, although my peripheral vision limits my driving, but I have a kind and loving wife who will take me to the hospitals and nursing homes so I can take Communion to parishioners. She also helps me edit my columns and reads to me the material I need for my radio program. I still can compose — I was a journalism major in college and was taught to think behind a keyboard. Thus, I’m like the blind pianist who can play the melody but just can’t read the music.
It also made me more thankful the stroke wasn’t worse than it was and for all the folks who prayed for my recovery.

The second reason this World Series was different was because it coincided with the observations of All Saints and All Souls. My parish had several Masses to commemorate those days which included two Latin Masses. I was privileged to be present on the altar for two All Souls Masses, one Novus Ordo, and the other a Traditional Latin Requiem Mass for the dead, as well as a Traditional Latin Mass for All Saints.

Now the Mass times did conflict with the World Series a bit, but I was usually able to get home to pick up the night’s game from an early inning. But the Feasts of All Saints and All Souls, mixed with the World Series, led me to reconnect with my deceased father, my past, and how God had kept me safe and close, and how He had provided me with such a wonderful family (my mother is deceased as well) and the best of possible circumstances for a young boy to grow into manhood.

It made me thankful for all I have received in this life but sad that I could have done much more with it. In other words, it gave me a new perspective on life, how to live, and how to be thankful — things that I will carry to the Thanksgiving Mass where I am scheduled to assist next week.

There’s more to life than just politics and law and this has provided me with a nice pause from my usual routine. There is baseball and family and faith.

Unfortunately, as you must know by now, the Phillies lost the Series to the Houston Astros, four games to two. My dad would have reminded me that it’s not as important to win the game as it is how you played it. That’s the lesson today. Play the game with honor and you will always have honor even in defeat.

But I’m left with the sentiment expressed by the late National League President Bart Giamatti on the emptiness felt by fans at season’s end: “The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall all alone.”

Alone hell, the Eagles are going to the Super Bowl, Dad!

(You can reach Mike at: DeaconMike@q.com and listen to him every Thursday on Faith On Trial at https://iowacatholicradio.com/faith-on-trial/)