With apologies to the 1782 hymnist John Fawcett, blest be the ties that bind. One hundred and eight of them, double-stitched, to be exact. That is the number of red-cotton raised stitches that are found on a regulation cork-centered, twine-wound, baseball covered in two sections of horsehide, or cowhide.
Baseball may have been displaced as "America's Pastime" by quantitative measures, but its historical place in the hearts and souls of sports-loving Americans is secure.
To reduce baseball to the sum of its above-noted properties is tantamount to reducing the U.S. Constitution to the iron-gall ink on the 2,725 square inches of parchment upon which it is written.
Considered the "holy grail" of all baseballs, the home run ball hit by Bobby Thomson into Section 35 of New York's old Polo Grounds in October 1951, propelling the Giants into the World Series, remains a compelling mystery as neither it, nor its owner, are yet to be satisfactorily identified. If found, the ball's value has been estimated in the millions.
Novelist Don DeLillo crafted his critically-acclaimed "Underworld" around imagined travels of the Thomson ball, and its place in American cultural lore.
But ask any kid who has ever dreamed a baseball dream about the value of a ball. Pierce the veil of time for a moment and gaze at the 1910 youngster who snagged a foul ball off the bat of Honus Wagner; or, a home run ball from Babe Ruth in 1927. Think of the 10-year-old recipient of a ball tossed his way, along with a wink, from the Homestead Grays' Buck Leonard in 1939.
Maybe a 12-year old from 1986 still displays his horsehide souvenir from Dale Murphy or Cal Ripken; or, perhaps a freckle-faced imp went to sleep the other night still clutching his prize from Shohei Othani.
In common with each of those examples, along with the memories, are the smiles. I'd wager they are all the same. Matt Mabe will attest to that.
Matt and his family live near Atlanta, and he has been an e-mail friend since we met him and his 8-year old son, Mason, at a Gwinnett Stripers minor league game in 2023. Robin and I, and the Mabes, had a section behind the visitors' dugout almost to ourselves, and Mason was patrolling the area for foul balls.
Mason Mabe, 11, and his family.
Contributed photo
About the fourth inning, Mason approached Robin to offer her a recovered ball. Now, 8-year-olds do not easily part with those prizes, and I sensed a story behind the offering, and that big smile. I found a seat next to Matt and learned of Mason's generous character.
At a recent Atlanta Braves game, star outfielder Marcell Ozuna tossed a ball to fans seated near the Mabe family. One of them presented the ball to Mason. Awed by the gesture, Mason told his parents that he wished to do that for another fan at a future game.
Robin became his chosen beneficiary.
After I wrote of Mason in another publication, Matt and I have maintained off-and-on contact. At age 11, Mason is developing a curveball, and is considered a leader on his youth league teams. For now, he is focusing on 6th-grade summer football practice.
Robin and I attended a Charlotte Knights game a few evenings ago with a group from our church, and returned home to discover an e-mail from Matt Mabe. His family had just returned from an evening at the ball yard where they watched the Chattanooga Lookouts play a home game.
Matt described a foul ball that slipped from his grasp and landed with another family. "I thought it was a complete failure," he relayed, "but a woman got it and [gave] it to her son who was celebrating his fourth birthday. He was over the moon!"
I'm sure the Mabes saw the same smile that we witnessed from Mason three years ago. It was the same smile that I saw from Mark Thomas, a boy in our church group who coaxed a ball from the third baseman in Charlotte. That smile has traveled very well over many decades.
James Earl Jones' Terrance Mann summed it up best in 1989's "Field of Dreams:" "The one constant through all the years has been baseball ... It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again."
Award-winning columnist Douglas Smith lives and writes in Rockingham.
