Baseball is magic.
Like watching David Copperfield, it often leaves us wowed and wondering what in the world we just witnessed. Or, like watching the mesmerizing sleight-of-hand work of Shin Lim, we become speechless, the synapses in our brains seemingly frozen, begging to see the trick again.
Or, like watching Bobby Witt, Jr.
Cooperstown, New York is a magical place. David Tinnes must have said that phrase a dozen times in the 30 hours we were there. The village is in upstate New York, tucked away in the trees, on the southern tip of Otsego Lake. No one arrives at Cooperstown by accident. It is the legendary home of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. Main Street is filled with stores selling baseball-related memorabilia – cigars and whiskey, vintage gloves and baseball cards, hats and home décor. When you go to Cooperstown, be sure to track down the dark chocolate and raspberry fudge; it is delectable.
Jamie and I went on a seven-day, 2,700-mile catch-playing adventure to Cooperstown, New York. I went to tell a story about playing catch. A story about my dad and daughters and writing a book. A story about being human. Several of my catch-playing friends from across the US decided to meet me there.
Time for some introductions.
David Tinnes. A relatively new baseball fan and Mets fan, bless his heart, David teaches students with disabilities in Rochester, New York. He played catch for a year, ending on Leap Day 2024. He loves his first baseman’s mitt designed in the blue and orange of his Mets.
Kevin Negaard. The king of questions, Kevin is a Nokona glove addict. He played catch for a year starting on the day of his 60th birthday, connected with more than 2,000 catch partners including Ozzie Smith, and raised $369,000 for the Miracle League of Sioux City, Iowa. Kevin knows everyone.
Don Kirk. At the age of 72, Don started playing catch to help remember the connection he had with his son, Jonathan, who passed away at the age of 35 after a heart transplant. Playing catch is how Don dared to meet his grief face-to-face. From Albany, New York, Don plays catch using Jonathan’s Rawlings glove.
John Murphy. Also known as Murph. Murph is a storytelling documentarian from Salt Lake City, Utah, who has a vision for creating a documentary about the power and wonder of playing catch. Murph owns a beautiful Wilson A2000 that still needs a little more breaking in.
J.D. Mangrum. J.D. pastors Christ Church Charlestown in Massachusetts. His church celebrated its 150th birthday seven years before George Washington became the first President of the US. J.D. started playing catch to connect with his sons and never stopped. He has now eclipsed the 650-day mark, currently using a new Rawlings he picked up after blowing out his other gloves.
Sheila Forsyth. The newcomer to the group, a marriage and family counselor from Springfield, Missouri, Sheila is nearing the halfway point of her catch-playing year using a Rawlings glove. This was her first trip to Cooperstown and she was joined by her son, Shayne.
Jamie Bryan. My wife of 27 years, a cancer survivor, who teaches students with multiple disabilities at the elementary school I attended as a child.
Max Martin. A former collegiate ballplayer, now a corrections officer from Iowa, Max keeps Kevin honest. Max is soft-spoken until he isn’t. Then, Max is absolutely hilarious. To help keep himself sane, mostly because of work and only partially because of Kevin, Max collects baseball cards.
Me. An always-overthinking writer with Charlie Brown luck who gets nervous far too easily.
Now, for the story.
There are three parts to a magic act.
First, The Pledge. This is when the magician shows you something ordinary. A standard deck of cards, for example. Or pizza.
On Main Street in Cooperstown, just a few blocks down from the Hall of Fame, at a pizza lunch, six of us sat down for introductions. We learned about Murph’s Golden-Glove boxing dad and growing up fighting and why he started making movies – thank you, Star Wars. Kevin shared his passion for working with the Miracle League, helping to make baseball accessible to all people. David works with students with special needs and is only a week away from his oldest child graduating high school. Jamie shared the story of her battle with cancer and the ongoing journey, and Max surprised us all, telling us about the time a stranger attacked him with a box cutter and left him barely alive.
The Pledge, however, wasn’t really the pizza. That was an instrument of distraction, much like a magic wand or beautiful assistant. We were The Pledge. Our pizza-backed stories revealed not only our passions for playing catch, but also the pains and struggles we carry wherever we go. Those pains are part of the cost of being alive. We are all merely ordinary humans.
Ordinary humans are the best humans. Ordinary humans are like Matt Landry of Indiana, who plays catch with his sons, but also plays catch to raise money for the local food pantry. Last September, he raised $22,000.
Ordinary humans are like Ben Finch of New York, who volunteers to play catch on the worst weather days so others can enjoy the good weather days.
Ordinary humans are like Billy and Branch Martin of Ohio, who play catch regularly at the cemetery, as they grieve the loss of a daughter and sister and heal through having fun.
Ordinary humans are like Wade Alberty, the collegiate IT specialist in Missouri, who is a southpaw pitcher in his local corkball league. One of the older guys in his league, he plays because it’s fun.
Part two of a magic trick is The Turn. This is when the magician makes the ordinary thing do something extraordinary. Like all the numbers on a deck of cards disappear except for the card of your choice.
The Turn in Cooperstown developed slowly. It began as we toured the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. There we saw the artifacts and read the stories of other ordinary humans who had accomplished great things in baseball and in life. The glove that Willie Mays used to make “The Catch.”
Hank Aaron’s uniform and statue. George Brett’s pine tar bat. And the new “Souls of the Game” exhibit. These glimpses into baseball history were inspiring and breath taking, reminding me of the James Earl Jones quote from Field of Dreams, “The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”
Don Kirk joined us near the end of the tour, standing just outside the Bullpen Theater, the same theater where my presentation would take place an hour later. I was battling nerves – always. Jamie, David, Don, and I started playing catch in the Hall of Fame using a Yardball. Don and I have visited and texted and emailed several times; this was our first in-person meeting. Tossing the ball was quite calming and therapeutic, and it was fun getting passersby to participate. Playing catch helps us focus on the now. It’s a grounding exercise, a centering exercise. I took a selfie and tried my best to get Murph in the background.
There are those rare times when the magician offers us a peak behind the curtains, revealing his secrets. Oddly enough, instead of disappointment, our enlightenment makes what we thought we saw even more amazing.
I did my best to pull back the curtain and reveal the secret power of playing catch, telling a story about how this particular, simple, infinite game transforms ordinary humans. Playing catch day in and day out is an exercise in hope that helps us to live a good story.
The storytelling was a success. During the questions and answers, one member of the audience suggested I write a children’s book about playing catch, which is a fantastic idea. I do know a potential illustrator. I even sold a copy of my book. I can now cross-off, “Have a book signing at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum” from my bucket list.
Part three of a magic trick is The Prestige. This is the true “aha” moment. When the blank cards all turn back into normal cards with the flick of a wrist.
Part three, in Cooperstown, came in waves.
And it came because we played catch.
After dinner, we retreated to our home for the night, a rental house with a creek running through the back yard. Kevin pulled out a replica vintage lemon-peel ball, and the throws and stories started. Max wondered what would happen if he played catch with one inmate every day. Kevin considered starting a podcast documenting his catch-playing year titled, “Say Yes.” Murph threw for a while, still breaking in his glove, and then picked up his camera to capture some of the whimsy. Don brought a brand-new baseball for all of us to autograph. He has a shelf filled with signed baseballs from all of his catch partners. Jamie picked up a glove and joined in the game.
“Isn’t this place just magical?” David asked. The grin on his face could not have been brighter.
We compared gloves and told dozens of stories about playing catch, each story sending us off on a new rabbit trail. (No rabbits were pulled from hats or harmed in the experience.) We laughed and played and struggles and pains were temporarily forgotten. Time was irrelevant. Strangers now friends, brought together through the simplest of activities. We each inspired and encouraged one another.
J.D. later texted me, “Nothing like a 19th century game to help address our 21st century brokenness!”
When we relocated inside the house, Murph showed us ninety seconds of the catch-playing documentary. It stirred the same emotions one feels during the three minutes Dwier Brown appears in Field of Dreams.
The following morning, J.D. left Boston at 4 AM to join in the fun. He saw the video and we stepped out in the thick, dewy grass toting gloves and wearing hoodies. A duck swam through the creek looking for breakfast and conversations continued. Kevin kept switching out a normal baseball for his lemon peel. I spotted his sleight-of-hand on multiple occasions.
Sheila texted me, “Shayne and I just pulled up to Cooperstown. Where can we find you guys?”
Sheila experienced one setback after another trying to fly from Springfield to New York. She had planned on making the presentation, but didn’t reach her hotel until well after midnight.
After hearing from Sheila, we glovers (a group of catch players) connected and embarked on a catch-playing tour across Cooperstown, starting on the front porch of the Hall of Fame. David, Kevin, Sheila, J.D., and I threw the ball around. The five of us represented more than 2,000 days of playing catch.
Our final catch took place in the left field bullpen at Doubleday Field.
There is a deeper magic than what occurs on a Las Vegas stage any given night. C.S. Lewis referenced this kind of magic in his Narnia writings; it’s also referenced in Harry Potter.
Don was the one who revealed the secret.
“Playing catch is all about people,” he said.
We are all ordinary people carrying struggles and pains with every step. When we have the courage to reveal those struggles and pains, whether the loss of a son or physical scars carried on our body or family transitions or loss of a job, when we give voice to our pain, we are transformed.
Playing catch simply teaches us how to pay attention to other people so their voice can be heard, so their struggles are shared, so they know that they are not alone.
Play is that which brings us joy and connection. And when you play with someone else, sharing joy and paying attention to them, where time becomes irrelevant, that is also known as love.
Love is the deepest magic of all.
Playing catch is an exercise in love.
From Cooperstown, we parted ways, each of us carrying the tools of our trade – a glove and ball – more than willing to share the secrets of our craft with anyone who might have the courage to say yes whenever we ask, “Wanna play catch?”
On Friday, August 16, I’ll turn 50. It’s a good number. I’m working on an idea for playing catch in the Ozarks, spreading joy and wonder and a little magic.
You are invited.
