Today is the Home Opener for the Minnesota Twins. People who love baseball see this as a special, almost sacred day. At the beginning of a new season, the faithful need not apologize for their championship hopes – all things are still possible.

Although in their first series at Baltimore, the Twins have emerged as champions for a more stark reality, finding new ways to show us their limitations.

But don’t give up just yet. Things can change over the course of a long season. Miracles happen. Talents emerge. And fade. That’s sports. We hear a lot of complaints about the way elite athletes can overdose on self-esteem, but for each of them there is a reckoning not too far down the road. Once they lose a step or swing the bat a half second slower, even the greatest are pushed towards the exits. The pressure to perform and win is merciless. The greatest are exalted and given special status, but humiliation is also part of the package.

And then there are the rest – the vast majority of amateur players who love the game but don’t have what it takes to play professionally. They might dream big league dreams in the early going, but for reasons related to size, speed, and ability, they soon realize that learning to balance a spread sheet or sell insurance or be a radio engineer will ultimately do them more good than continuing to try to hit the curve ball.

A lot of fine athletes have walked this path. One of them was my friend, Tom Keith, who died suddenly and far too early last October of a pulmonary embolism.

Tom had a great career as a ballplayer, starting out in the backyard working on fundamentals. Here he is scooping up a grounder. You can see he’s having a great time with this. Even as an adult he would happily instruct anyone who asked (and many who didn’t) on the proper technique.

At Sibley High School he was a star center fielder. Not very fearsome a presence at the plate, he made up for it on the base paths. In one pivotal game he took four bases, propelling his team into the state tournament.

You can see him here, sliding into third with another steal.

I’m not surprised to learn that Tom was a talented and successful thief. Speed is only part of base stealing. Another crucial factor is the ability to observe the pitcher closely, understand his motion and find an opening. Tom was very, very good at picking up the odd cues and funny quirks of other people. He was an excellent mimic, and could play yourself back to you, capturing your way of speaking, your posture, your words and even the gaps between words.

Timing is everything in base stealing and comedy.

Tom went on to play a season with the University of Minnesota Gophers, but his inability to hit and his less than imposing size made it unlikely that he would ever wear a professional jersey on opening day.

He joined the Marines and later took an engineering job at MPR. The rest, as they say, is history. But he always loved baseball, and this was an important day to him.

What’s your high school sports story?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I write a silly blog six days a week because I like writing. But like many writers, I also like NOT writing. More than either of these things, I like Having Written.

There is satisfaction in a job well done, and also in a job that is just … finished. The doing is something I could do without, but without the doing, nothing would get done. I know this is confusing.

Once upon a time I had a job where I was paid to confront these contradictions, but in another strange reversal, for the past few years I’ve paid for the privilege of doing it. I didn’t think the money mattered very much until it disappeared.

My blog can be about anything, but one thing it is NOT about is selling stuff. I decided to spare my readers the inconvenience of looking at commercial nonsense alongside my own non-profit nonsense. In fact, I pay extra to keep my blog advertising-free. But now I’m being offered the chance to allow ads to be placed on my page with a real possibility that I will get some money in return for it.

How much money? Almost nothing, I think. But no promises have been made, and “almost nothing” is certainly not a guarantee. It could turn out to be absolutely nothing.

Dr. Babooner, I’m concerned that allowing ads on the page would clutter up the scenery and make my readers feel exploited. But sometimes when I’m writing and wish I was NOT writing, I’d like to think there was a nickel or two to be gained by persevering.

What should I do?

Sincerely,
Conflicted

I told Conflicted he should find some roundabout way of asking his readers if it would be OK to try the advertising thing. I suggested that he use some thinly veiled scenario that anybody could see is a description of the actual situation. Even if some people say they don’t like the idea and others simply don’t get it, when the ads show up and the complaining starts, he could say it was all a joke, or a mistake, or some sort of performance art.

But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?