A memorable baseball moment on Independence Day

During an Atlanta Braves game last week, one shared moment might have been a better celebration of America’s 250th birthday than any fireworks show or patriotic picnic blessing.

That’s no easy task. Independence Day is not a simple holiday in these times. Each American anniversary conjures complex thoughts about the tenor of our nation nowadays. 

There’s a lot of division in our country. Feelings of animosity boil over when discussing politics or America’s identity. It’s hard to consider our nation’s legacy without considering some of the huge problems we face today.

We are not together. Bigotry is more prevalent, and more accepted, than ever before.

So. Let’s talk about baseball.

What a shift. How can one think about a frivolous sport like baseball, a “boy’s game,” as so many of the men fortunate enough to play it professionally have called it, on a day so treacherously spring-loaded with 250 years of baggage?

Well, one reason is easy to pin down: It’s a distraction. Sports are often an escape from the stresses of life. 

Even when the Braves are slumping — and they have been for about a month now — catching a game has this wondrous, almost medicinal calming effect for many. It’s just a great thing to watch after a long day.

But then, baseball is also America’s pastime. It reflects our country in a way unlike any other sport. The pastiche, the bespoke cadence, the almost pastoral aura of it — compared to the bruisingly urbane nature of football and the indoor ruckus of basketball — feels more historic than other sports. Heck, it is the oldest of America’s major sports.

Baseball is such a tonic for our toil because it is a struggle itself. In more than a century of trying, the greatest athletes in the world still haven’t figured out how to consistently get a hit more than 40% of the time. (Except for Ted Williams, and he only did it once.)

The struggle to make contact with a baseball using a bat, however, is not a result of capitalistic turmoil or systemic oppression — it is hard instead because people have gotten so unfathomably good at spinning their pitches. The ball moves faster, curves more sharply and darts more imperceptibly than it ever has before. There’s practically a new pitch every year.

The challenges of everyday life are ugly. The challenges of baseball are stunning, iridescent mirrors of our existence that fascinate as much as they frustrate.

And just like America, it’s more complicated than that. What about kids who yearn to play the game but cannot afford a bat? How many children fall in love with the game on television, a luxury not afforded to all (and a service inexplicably being gradually but ruthlessly diminished by MLB’s TV blackouts)?

These are unfortunate aspects of reality that seep into our national pastime, yes, but that’s why baseball has earned such a moniker. 

For every controversial happening — a player protesting a Pride Night, a pitcher hurling a racially insensitive phrase instead of a baseball — there are triumphs that are equally representative of the good parts of life.

In a small way, such a triumph unfolded at Truist Park on July 3.

As the Braves were on their way to a win over the New York Mets, first baseman Matt Olson stepped into the batter’s box.

As Olson got ready for a 3-2 pitch in the eighth inning, Braves organist Matthew Kaminski dialed up a classic and played John Denver’s “Country Roads.” 

The organist only got halfway through the song’s iconic chorus before he stopped playing as a pitch was thrown, which led to a fascinating moment: The sizable Truist Park crowd sang the rest of the tune aloud together.

“Country Roads” always seems to be a song that transcends divisive boundaries. It’s an ode to one of America’s simplest pleasures: home. This country’s vast, beautiful stretches of land have long been some of its defining characteristics. Few songs demonstrate that better than Denver’s famous anthem.

And just as the fans finished out the last line of the chorus, Olson swung his bat.

The powerful first baseman mashed the ball, belting a home run to right field that soared more than 400 feet and sent the folks in the bleachers straight from singing to screaming.

The clip made the rounds on social media that night. It was fun to watch and rewatch.

Being there felt even more electric, though. I was in the stadium, singing “Country Roads” alongside thousands of other baseball fans.  I have no particular attachment to the classic song, but it nonetheless felt undeniably American, wistful, fun.

For all the conflicting feelings about America, about baseball and its players and teams, about the sometimes inescapable concerns in our lives — there was some intangible unity in the soupy suburban air July 3.

We sang. We cheered. We forgot about our problems … just for a moment.