A Tale of Two Starts
– byMario Crescibene
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the age of countless homeruns, it was the age of no homeruns, it was the spring of hope, it was the summer of baseball – in short, that is to say that while the country was torn asunder by embattled dualities, America’s pastime was once again being played in Cleveland.
The duality of our time could find no better manifestation than in the contrast between starts for the Cleveland Guardians’ Chase DeLauter. For it was he, who in his first play in the major leagues, dropped a fly ball hit to him during the playoffs. The unfortunate soul went hitless in that first career start. And it was he who mustered just one hit on 6 at bats during that same playoff series. And yet it was also he who started the current campaign with 5 homeruns in 26 at-bats. And it was he who was named the American League Player of the Week to start the season.
Chase DeLauter’s error was in the past, and the future lay before him in the year of Our Lord two thousand and twenty-six.
Chase DeLauter took his bat and made his way from the on-deck circle to the batter’s box. They said of him, about the stadium that day, that it was the most determined man’s face ever beheld there. Many in the stands added that he looked sublime and prophetic. If he had given any utterance to his thoughts that day, and they were prophetic, they would have been these:
“I see the city before me, alive with expectation and the echoes of 78 years of suffering. I see the streets leading to the ballpark lined with Guardians banners fluttering from light poles, the scent of Nathan’s hotdogs and freshly cut grass drifting on the Lake Erie breeze. I see Progressive Field, rising from the corner of Carnegie and Ontario like a cathedral of summer, its blue seats sun-warmed, waiting for the unfolding of moments that will be remembered long after the final Tom Hamilton call.”
“I see the scoreboard with the Cleveland skyline behind it as I walk to the plate. I see my photo appear on the screen that now bears my name. I see my teammates, their hands wrapped tight on bats, their eyes following the path of each ball. I see the coaches along the bench, their voices carrying across the dugout, reminders of swings that missed and pitches left over the dish.”
“I see the fans leaning forward in their seats as I walk to the plate, hands clutching foam fingers and cold drinks. I see the little girl in the stands, wearing my number 24, eyes wide with awe. I see old men, nodding with quiet satisfaction, as they jot down notes in their scorebooks. I see the ump meticulously clean the plate the same way he has done countless times before. I see the catcher returning the ball to the pitcher, their eyes meeting in a silent strategy for the at-bat to come. I see the recorded history of Cleveland seasons past etched into the dirt as I step into the batter’s box.”
“It is a far, far better start that I make than I have ever made; it is a far, far better victory that I go to than I have ever known.”
BATTER UP.