A lot can be learned by spending time with a baseball pitching machine. The best instruction taken from baseball or a softball pitching machine actually have nothing to do with baseball. Standing in the batters box with balls flying by at 70 miles an hour offers itself to insight and awareness. Everyday a thousand things fly past every normal Joe and Julia walking the street. Hundreds of decisions are made every minute. Should I have decaf with artificial sweetener, should I scratch my nose before putting down the donut, should I call Teddy back, take the stairs or elevator, use blue ink or black ink, zip up my fly now or wait until I can duck into a closet, run to catch the cross light or wait? Facing baseballs tossed by a machine is a great practice and perfect metaphor for life.

A professional baseball player knows that every time he goes to the plate, the pitcher is going to try to get him out. That’s the nature of the sport and the way to play it. The batter doesn’t waste time griping about why the pitcher is throwing so hard, or why he’s making it hard to hit a homerun. The batter isn’t mad at the pitcher because he is throwing fast balls and change ups to try and fool him. The batter won’t feel sad because he thinks the pitcher hates him. It’s how you play the game, the objectives are clear and the roles are obvious. A batter strikes out after swinging the bat at three good pitches. Is the batter mad at the pitcher? Heck darn no way admires the pitcher for his skill and is mad at himself for not doing better. The man with the bat made his decisions, to swing hard, to bunt or to watch the ball go by. If he grounds out or goes down swinging, he goes back to the dugout, disappointed, but knowing he will swing again. He doesn’t blame anyone else or make a bunch of excuses, or feel like the pitcher was being unfair. He took his swings and he will live to play another day.

For most people life is not as black and white or as confrontational as baseball. Life is much more like facing a batting machine. The machine cares about nothing. The machine doesn’t care if the person with the bat is black, white, purple, tall, short, or shaped like a gourd. The machine just keeps throwing pitches. The machine doesn’t care if the batter zings it out of the park or fans the air.

That is the way the world is for most people. Life comes at them a million miles an hour. Should they swing, bunt or duck? If they get hit by a pitch do they run out to the mound and pick a fight with the mechanical arm? Nope, they do not. It is not personal. Life is just throwing things at them. They can spit and holler, argue and weep. It won’t help, but they can do that if it comforts them. The real energy needs to go into stepping back to the plate and facing the next ball, watch it come in and decide whether to swing or pass.

America’s past time has much to teach us all. Baseballs basic rules can become rules for living. Take a swing or let it go, it’s nothing personal. In the game of life, we’re always in the box and there are no strike outs. That is what is cool about life is; you can just keep swinging.

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