Community in the Time-Space Continuum 9-6-9

Fluor Stadium, South Carolina

After having used up several passports, traversing the Panama Canal eight times, visiting fifty countries, and exploring and climbing on most of the things NASA ever built in Florida, Alabama, or Texas, I figured I had a reasonable working knowledge of the universe and especially those parts of it in my own solar system. Nyet! I have just now discovered an incredible region of the universe that I seem to be the last to know about.

Astrophysicists have long speculated that nothing can go faster than the speed of light or about 186,282 miles per second. The theorems of quantum mechanics suggest this will never be exceeded because matter would actually return whence it came before it left, if it were travelling faster than light speed. This is a strange world in which it is difficult to wrap ones’ intuition around the idea of arriving before one leaves. Observational data indicates that strange galaxies called blazars are detonating and spitting out planet sized blobs at 99.9% of the speed of light. Other studies show cosmic particles slamming into earth at almost the speed of light - 99.999999999999999999999999999% but not 100%. There is some fast moving stuff out there but it has it limits.

Imagine a universe in which the fastest moving object travels at a rather paltry 0.028 miles per second. Scientists report that the laws of physics and biomechanics insure this to be a fairly confident limit on maximum particle velocity. Exceeding this theoretical limit can be expected to cause a structural failure. Observational data in 1974 reported the highest particle velocity ever seen - 100.9 MPH. The white particle was ejected from the right hand of Ryan Nolan, the celebrated fastball pitcher in the major leagues. No one has ever been officially reported to throw a baseball faster.

On the centerfield fence at Fluor Stadium is the splendid admonition, “Enjoy Life at the Speed of Baseball.” How grand to be a visitor to a universe where things happen slowly and with grace. On some hearsay from another traveler, I invited a group to journey with me to this farm club stadium about twenty five miles distant for a Friday evening of baseball, hot dogs, peanuts; and fireworks; an experience of quintessential Americana. I only learned of the existence of this stadium and ball team two weeks ago.

I was astounded with what we found here. We arrived at the stadium in late afternoon as the sun was beginning its descent in the cerulean sky. A most hospitable young man at the gate to the ball park offered to take our van and park it across the street for us - at no cost for the valet service or parking. We walked a mere fifty feet to the box office and acquired tickets from a most helpful and happy attendant for a meager $6. There seemed to be some kind of very pleasant economic anomaly operating in this universe. I was on the edge of fiscal elation.

Entering into the stadium I took a double take. Was the second law of thermodynamics in suspension? The second law says it is natural for stuff in the universe to get dirty, disordered, random, and pretty unkempt. I was stunned with how absolutely pristine and attractive everything about this stadium and its environs are. The rim of the cerulean sky was now taking on aureate hues and the shadows of the stadium were stretching across the meticulously raked terra cotta soil of the infield. The emerald realm of the outfield looked like a putting green at Pebble Beach - absolutely perfect. The facility is so perfectly maintained and clean; I asked if it was new. I was told white particles had been getting ejected here by pitchers for five years.

We decided our little team needed refueling and again we found staff in the concessions amazingly friendly and purveyors of really good food at very fair prices. I began to wonder if the minor leagues were anteing up and sending personnel to Disney’s guest relations training. The generosity and hospitality of the staff was eclipsing anything I had experienced elsewhere.

Before the game I was standing behind home plate when an usher came up to me and was pleasantly chatty. I proclaimed to her that I found the stadium to be extraordinary and really user-friendly. She then said “I am about to make it more user friendly. Where are your seats?” I pointed out the red bleachers at the far end of the first base line. She said “Would you like to sit here behind the plate? I would be glad to bring you three cushioned chairs for you and your friends?” From a shock-induced fugue I said that would be really grand. Jenny disappeared into an unknown region and several minutes later appeared with three really fine chairs. I was instantly reminded of the curator at the Hermitage in St Petersburg who brought Henri Nouwen a red velvet chair so he could spend hours sitting in front of Rembrandt’s epic painting “Return of the Prodigal Son.” When Jenny returned with those chairs I felt like the returning son who had a robe wrapped around him, a signet ring placed on his finger, and sandals put on his feet.

In a place where the fastest thing goes only .028 miles per second, people seem to find time to be nice to each other, really really nice to each other, offering hospitality and community. Throughout the ballgame Jenny provided us with a companionable chattiness, commenting on the game, taking care of our concession-generated solid waste, being attentive in a way my own mother was clueless about. A full moon arose in the indigo sky over the outfield wall. I found myself having a rather splendid peak life experience. Everything was exactly right in this universe. The general theory of community building and hospitality was quite in force. At the end of this game we received sincere sustained hugs from Jenny, an usher in a baseball stadium who sees her job as a calling, as an opportunity to make people feel like special guests. I cannot imagine not returning to experience this splendid graciousness in the near future.

As I waited for the happy animated jockey to go for the van after the game, I wondered about this oasis of hospitality and wholesomeness that has bloomed in what was once a ghetto. Are there things I can do back in my own world to make people feel like I have time for them? To make them feel welcome and included? For starters I can start living my life at the speed of baseball instead of the speed of light. And then invite someone to the ballgame.