Cooperstown 2
At the Baseball Hall of Fame, they have this very poorly produced film that serves as an intro to the museum. You sit in metal stadium seats like a real ballpark, and still images come up on the screen like a beginning film student tried to make a movie using a 1980s version of Power Point. I think I hurt my mom's feelings when I said it was awful -- this was right after she told me it made her tear up, of course, because I'm a kind person like that -- but seriously, they could have done a much better job out of respect for the game and the fact that they're the frickin' Baseball Hall of Fame.
But here's the thing: secretly it kinda made me tear up a bit, too. I know that's what it was designed to do -- make people feel the timelessness and universal, good home American appeal of baseball. But it shouldn't mean much to me, someone who probably wouldn't ever voluntarily watch a full game unless someone else paid for it and there were hot dogs or giant pretzels involved. But I guess for me, baseball isn't really about the game or the players or the stadiums. It's childhood trips to the ball park to watch my brothers play, eating tootsie rolls from the concession stand and reading Laura Ingalls Wilder on the metal bleachers. It's summertime trips to Wrigley, with my grandpa driving too fast in Chicago traffic and my biggest concern being which Cubs shirt I should get from the gift shop. And yeah, it's a lifetime full of forced interaction with the sport, but it's also hearing my mom sing along with Harry Carey during the seventh inning stretch as I play in the backyard and knowing everything was okay and Mom was happy because the Cubs were winning. Sometimes. They sometimes win.
So I will never love baseball like my family loves baseball, and the obstinate part of me will probably always resist loving it because, like corn hole or euchre, I was expected to love it, but I can appreciate and understand that love indirectly. And yeah, maybe I'll tear up at a crappy, sentimental museum film.
Here's the final, climactic moment of the film for ya:
But here's the thing: secretly it kinda made me tear up a bit, too. I know that's what it was designed to do -- make people feel the timelessness and universal, good home American appeal of baseball. But it shouldn't mean much to me, someone who probably wouldn't ever voluntarily watch a full game unless someone else paid for it and there were hot dogs or giant pretzels involved. But I guess for me, baseball isn't really about the game or the players or the stadiums. It's childhood trips to the ball park to watch my brothers play, eating tootsie rolls from the concession stand and reading Laura Ingalls Wilder on the metal bleachers. It's summertime trips to Wrigley, with my grandpa driving too fast in Chicago traffic and my biggest concern being which Cubs shirt I should get from the gift shop. And yeah, it's a lifetime full of forced interaction with the sport, but it's also hearing my mom sing along with Harry Carey during the seventh inning stretch as I play in the backyard and knowing everything was okay and Mom was happy because the Cubs were winning. Sometimes. They sometimes win.
So I will never love baseball like my family loves baseball, and the obstinate part of me will probably always resist loving it because, like corn hole or euchre, I was expected to love it, but I can appreciate and understand that love indirectly. And yeah, maybe I'll tear up at a crappy, sentimental museum film.
Here's the final, climactic moment of the film for ya:
3D effects!!!