Watching Baseball with the Blind

I was given a gift on Wednesday. I went to a baseball game with a blind friend named Charles. I will never watch a game the same way again.

For the first time, I prioritized the sound of baseball while taking in the game with Charles. Many often say that baseball is better on the radio than on the television. I caught a glimpse of why this is true on Wednesday.

My friend couldn't see the game, yet was enthralled by the experience at Chavez Ravine, even without sight.

The last time that he went to a game was in 1993, and he could see at that time. He went blind in 1997. This time, he could only hear, and he heard a lot.

He talked about hearing all of the noises of the game that went beyond the crack of the bat. He heard the people. He heard the conversations that were happening around him. We were reminded that baseball, while mostly quiet, was a talking persons game.

He would hear the prompts for the crowd to get clapping at the same time during important moments of the game. He would join in the percussion. Off a beat. While blindness has made his hearing better, it was clear that it did not help his rhythm.

He also heard all of the noise pollution. He heard the mess of songs that played as each hitter stepped to the plate. The soundbites were a bit much, he told me. He also heard the advertisements that rang between each inning on the big screen. The latest movie, the next product to purchase, etc... He was bothered by this recent development at Dodger's Stadium, and rightly so. "It didn't used to be this way." He said. I lamented.

He also heard the communal yell of the crowd. While not knowing what was exactly going on, he joined in the screams. The energy of the people around him compelled him to join. It was incredible to watch. He never actually asked what happened, but someone always told him and this gets to the best part.

The most meaningful observation of him experiencing the game came from the people that surrounded him in seats 11 and 13. No matter where they were in other conversations, they would always lean over to describe the fortune or the folly of the players.

"Ground ball, second base, out at first. Two outs, man on third." One would say.

I got to yell at him in the first inning. "Home run, Matt Kemp, left center!" The crowd was going crazy as I stretched the limits of my vocal cords into his right ear. Charles winced a bit and then smiled as he clapped his hands for the 400 foot blast from the Dodger all-star. He closed his eye lids, hiding the bright blue irises that jumped around in his eye ducts like an over caffeinated hand.

I asked him as we drove home why he closed his eyes during the game. He told me that he could still see the game clearly when his eyes were closed. He reminded me that he dreamed at night in perfect 20/20 vision, and that closing his eyes at the game prompted that sort of vision. "Closing my eyes allowed me to envision what that Matt Kemp home run actually looked like." He told me as he smiled again.

It seems that watching the game is still important. Even to Charles.