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.

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