On baseball, Pujols, and picking our heroes wisely

I guess it's time to I admit that I'm something of a daddy's girl. Ever since I was little, I have tried on his preferences and prejudices like they were fabulous, funky pieces I'd discovered at a vintage store, trying to figure out what fit. Many things didn't make the cut (the novels of Richard Brautigan come to mind). But some did, and so I can thank my father for my love of Kurt Vonnegut and convertibles, my lifelong infatuation with the Cal Berkeley campus, and the special place in my heart reserved for baseball.

My dad started taking our family to baseball games when I was in middle school. We'd make the long drive to the Oakland Coliseum and bargain for the cheapest last-minute bleacher seats we could find. Not a sports fan, I would bring a book with me to fend off fifth-inning boredom. My brothers were mortified, but my father would patiently lure me out of my reading by offering up arcane bits of knowledge about the game and the players, stuff so obscure or outlandish that I felt like I was sitting next to a baseball encyclopedia.

Then one day I noticed a charismatic left fielder named Rickey Henderson and suddenly there was no chance of being bored. We all became fanatics during the summer Rickey chased (and broke) the record for most bases stolen in a season. It was magical, and has provided me with a lifetime of golden memories.

This is all a long way of explaining that I really like baseball. I even understand that feeling that it's more than a game, that it's the great American pastime, that it connects generations of families together, that it?has a mystical quality of timelessness, that going to a game can be an experience akin to worship. Really, I promise, I get it. But what I have never ever been able to get is why we turn people who play sports into "heroes" or "idols."

I loved Rickey Henderson, loved watching him play, was transfixed by the athleticism and intensity he brought to the game. As I kid I was really tempted to turn him into an idol. He came from Oakland, that crime-ridden underdog of a city where I was born, and there was a tremendous emotional connection between him and his hometown fans. And although he could be cocky, even boastful, he had some great qualities, too, most notably his preternatural level of discipline. In the end, though, the thing to love about him was the way he played baseball; he was fast, smart, joyful, and a thing of beauty as he rounded bases. And that was enough.

So at last we reach the saga of Pujols, or "Albert" as my kids always call him. Isn't it time that we admit we wanted him to be more than a ball player, and that our own (greedy?) desire to have him make us feel special is part of why we're so hurt by his departure? My daughters love Albert, have loved watching him play, and I hope with all my heart that their summer evenings at the ballpark with their dad and me become some of their most treasured childhood memories.

But I've never talked to my kids about how Albert is such a good Christian, or encouraged them to think of him as anything other than another ball player. For one thing, his brand of?very public?Christianity is still a little weird?to me (yes, I know there's a pot-and-the-kettle case to be made here). And I guess if I'm being honest his faith just never seemed all that relevant. Would he have been a less interesting or talented player if he were Muslim or Buddhist, or an atheist, or someone who kept his faith to himself? Of course not.

In spite of how much some people in St. Louis wanted to believe that his Christian faith would compel him to play by different rules, that never seemed plausible to me. Pujols makes a living playing baseball. It's his job. He chose the better business deal, period. I wonder how many of us would do otherwise.

Do I find the amount of money he makes kind of sick? Yup. But I would have felt that way if it had been $100 million, or even $50 million for that matter. That's not a Pujols problem. That's a problem created by us, by a society that values certain forms of entertainment above any other pursuit in life, at least in terms of how people are financially compensated. We can hardly blame him for being part of a system that we so giddily support when it goes our way. Still, while I harbor no real illwill, I'll admit that when I listen to Albert or his wife tie themselves up in knots trying to explain that it wasn't about the money, I cringe a little inside. Can't they just ?fess up and move on, so we can all get on with our lives?

I hate sounding all smugly sanctimonious about how wrong it is to make idols out of athletes, musicians, and movie stars. I understand that kids need heroes, and that just pointing them to the Bible and telling them to look up Esther or Moses probably isn't going to do the trick. If I could pick, I'd like my daughters' role models to be great scientists, like Marie Curie, or great saints, like Joan of Arc. Or just really good people--like their dad. He's an awesome coed church-league softball player, and an all-around great guy. I don't want their hearts broken over a baseball player because they thought he was something more than that. Especially not when there are so many real heroes out there to celebrate instead.

Source: http://www.stltoday.com/lifestyles/faith-and-values/civil-religion/pamela-dolan/on-baseball-pujols-and-picking-our-heroes-wisely/article_23a7394a-2699-11e1-860a-0019bb30f31a.html

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