United by a trivial game

I hate to say “I told you so.” But I did.

I told you that a God of justice and fair play would not let the

evil New York Yankees triumph over the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

And they didn’t.

And just as a kind of signature flourish, a miracle was arranged

for me in the process. I was there.

When it seemed quite impossible that could happen, God arranged a

splendid rainstorm in New York, causing the postponement of the

Saturday game and setting the fifth and final game in Anaheim a day

later than scheduled.

So I got home from a trip in time to share tickets my daughter had

miraculously been able to buy. We were pretty far out in right field

-- cheek by jowl with Vladimir Guerrero -- but we were at Angel

Stadium on Monday evening when the Angels ended the Yankees’ season.

It’s hard not to rhapsodize over the environment in which all this

happened. On my left was a white-haired lady with three companions

quite possibly older than I am, if such a thing is possible. In front

of me were two young couples involved in one another, mostly between

innings. And to our right, a father was pointing out the fine points

of the play to his attentive young son.

We were immersed in every shade of skin color, age, ethnicity and

sex -- all focused on a common goal. If that goal seems frivolous in

a time of cataclysmic world disorders, don’t underestimate the

therapeutic value of the importance attached to cosmically

unimportant matters at such a time.

I remember the debate about whether to continue professional

baseball during World War II, and the proper decision that it

bolstered morale on the home front. At the same time, the various

military services competed for athletes -- especially football

players -- to form teams that fought vigorously against one another

throughout the war zones. It worked then, and it still works, even

though the current crisis includes a quite different kind of global

war.

I attended perhaps two dozen Angels games this season, almost all

of them sold-out. Yet, even though the size of the crowd was

identical, the atmosphere Monday night was quite different. The focus

on the game was much more intense. The crowd came to its feet on

almost every third-strike pitch by an Angel and never sat down during

the final two innings. Standees from more distant seats were packed

along the ramp behind the Terrace section.

The beer runs all about us were constant, but despite a

well-lubricated audience, I didn’t see a single sign of irritation or

hostility -- only an effervescent mix of people celebrating their

commonality in support of a shared cause. If there was a downside, it

was those damnable thunder sticks that were passed out at the

entrance to the stadium and were waving in my viewing space

throughout the game.

If this sounds like a eulogy, it’s because I don’t see any other

common causes getting this kind of support in the United States

today. What I see instead are growing divisions and deepening rifts,

encouraged by leaders willing to exploit them to their own ends.

So it’s warming to know that the communion we felt Monday night

can still happen. We may not hit that high again this season, but

whether the Angels take us through another World Series, I’ll be

grateful for the miracle that got me to the game Monday. And that the

good guys won.

Beyond that, I have no more predictions. I’m quitting while I’m

ahead -- something I’ve struggled with great difficulty to learn over

many years. And that I still haven’t learned in Las Vegas.

Our trip took us to Sacramento, San Francisco and Mendocino and

put us with an old friend celebrating his 80th birthday, a pair of

even older friends retired on the magnificent bluffs of Mendocino,

and a young couple with two small children.

All of them are dear to us and dealing with very special problems

that go with their territory. We shared those places with them -- and

some of ours. The sharing underscored, as always, the power of

friendship in helping us cope with daily demands.

On our flight home, I decided that the combination of good friends

and baseball will provide the proper mental attitude to address

virtually any human need.

That made it easier to deal with a mixed bag of happenings back

home while I was gone. For example:

* We will soon send a Chris Cox clone to Washington, which was a

foregone conclusion once the “moderate” Republicans threw their

weight behind the more conservative of the two viable candidates for

Cox’s seat in the House of Representatives. It’s unfortunate that the

taxpayers have to pop for another election in December to rubber

stamp what we already know. Sending a Democrat to Congress to

represent Newport-Mesa is a longer shot than resurrecting the El Toro

airport.

* My soon-to-be neighbor -- whose house is being built across the

street -- and poker opponent, John Altobelli, turned a championship

season as coach of the Orange Coast College baseball team into an

award as Orange Empire coach of the year for all sports. Hopefully,

it won’t translate into a winning streak in poker.

* Rene Lyons Powers, president of Newport Elementary School’s

Parent Teacher Assn., has offered Gov. Schwarzenegger a real

opportunity to back up his campaign promises to support education.

She asked him to participate in a limbo contest at the school’s

upcoming fundraiser. He would likely attract big bucks for the

school. I’ll be happy to donate my lottery money.

* Oh, yes, one other thing. The Angels beat the Yankees, 5-3,

Monday and are probably headed for the World Series.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column

appears Thursdays.