Double with the Bases Loaded

I’ve never known a colder winter than the winter a couple of years back when I watched my Grandfather succumb to cancer. The pending death of someone you care about more than anything else in the world can be nothing short of spine shattering. You spend everyday trying to find a way to be whole, as a large piece is slowly being worked away from your soul’s foundation. The tangible; the flesh , the voice, being transfered from existence to memory. The hardest part is opening yourself up to the experience in an effort to understand the world in a deeper way. It is hard, but it is necessary. Shutting down is done out of fear and as anyone who has ever experienced death knows, fear does not delay the inevitable, it just makes it harder when the day comes.

I dealt with the experience with acceptance and the will to try to take every moment I could, enjoying a world with my Grandfather still in it. This was despite the fact that the inevitable said that world would not be maintained for long. I spent as much time trying to see my grandfather as I could, and I was afforded opportunities to be there for him in a way that a very fortunate grandchild should be. One day, coming home from work, I saw that I had received a couple messages on my cell phone. When I arrived home from work, I saw that I received some messages on my home machine as well. My mother had called me to tell me that my grandfather was having a bit of a good day, and had been asking for me. She thought I should give him a call as soon as possible. I called him, and my Aunt put me on the phone with him immediately. He barely had the breath to speak, though he had the will to spare. I told him to take it easy and if he couldn’t talk, then not to worry about that. He fought off his limitations and spoke. What he said to me was “Tommy, Grandpa hit a double with the bases loaded”. These were the last words my grandfather ever spoke to me.

I grew to love baseball out of love for my grandfather who played the game at home and in the military during WW II. I can remember calling him frequently from games at Shea Stadium so we could share our NY Mets together. Even if we couldn’t have a cold beer and a hot dog together at Shea, I could tell him what the atmosphere was like in the park, and we could discuss how one of our own, an Italian American, Mike Piazza would be the one to help them win it again.

My grandfather was an enormous Brooklyn Dodgers fan, but when the bums left Brooklyn, Gramps found a new team in the Mets who eventually would come to be my team as well. This was solidified in 1986 when I officially figured out that Keith Hernandez played the game the way I would like to live my life. The way my grandfather lived his. Keith Hernandez had a tremendous knowledge of the game and a near flawless approach to it. He executed and excelled. Keith never did too much or too little, but just what the situation called for to put runners across, or stop the opposition from getting on base. Keith would have appreciated my Grandfather’s last words to me, as he was just that type of guy that knew what he was capable of. If he had it in him to hit a double to keep the team in it, he would do that rather than aspire for the home run that would make the team win it. When my grandfather said he hit a double with the bases loaded, he meant he was proud of doing what was in him to win, and not to worry about what he was suffering through now, he tasted glory and it was worth it.

I found out yesterday that With Anchovies...Without Mamma became an official selection of the 2010 Treasure Coast International Film Festival. I have taken a tremendous amount of joy and pride from this selection over the last day. First off, it came at a much needed time, pressing me to keep my head in the game and not give in to discouragement or distraction.

Second, the festival is located not far from the NY Mets Spring Training facility, Tradition Field, in Port St. Lucie Florida. The festival begins on February 18th which is also the time that pitchers and catchers report to camp. I’ve always put a great deal of stock in a new baseball season. There is something magical about it, as it is a clean slate and no one can predict the results. Treasure Coast may not be the homerun shot of Cannes or Sundance, but there is something so perfect about it for me. I am a facing my own new season and this selection has brought me sentiment and a sense of life’s poetry. With this festivaI, I to have an opportunity to knock a double with the bases loaded, much like Keith Hernandez would, but far more importantly, like my Grandfather would have.