field of dreams

It's that perfect time of year again. No more days with 95 degrees and 95 percent humidity. There's that hint of crispness in the morning air. Not too cold, but you just might need a light jacket. To me, it the best time of year to live in the Carolinas.

As the calendar turns to October, possibly the best drama of all in sports unfolds: it's time for the fall classic, the World Series. This year is a baseball fan's (not to mention network executives) dream. The Yankees, Red Sox and Cubs are all in the chase.

I'm sure to be all set with my remote in one hand and new baby girl in the other. Actually, I've figured out the proper technique of bottle feeding while changing the channel. I originally thought "baby in one hand, bottle/remote in the other". This actually makes it a little difficult. There's a lot of fumbling around plus those little eyes glare up at me when the bottle is falling off as I'm busy flipping between games. I know what you're thinking and don't worry. I make sure I get the proper channel on before resuming feeding.

I've found that putting the remote in the baby holding hand works much better. She's cradled up in the elbow joint while the remote is down in the hand, fully functional. Meanwhile the other hand is in full control of the bottle. Baby's fed and daddy's thirst for scoring updates is quenched. Everybody wins.

Back to this thing called the fall classic. A week ago I was all set for the drama of playoff baseball to unfold. Classic rivalries, the strategy of the game, all the camera angles bringing that drama to life in high-definition this year….I was ready.

But far away from the glitz and glamour of the big leagues and the World Series, Mike and I went to a small little game over the weekend. In a few short hours we witnessed the real determination and courage it takes to play the game of baseball.

It was a courage that won't be matched in Yankee Stadium or Fenway Park. Nope, even if Alex Rodriguez finally comes thru in the playoff clutch or if the Chicago Cubs achieve baseball Nirvana, it's too late. Mike and I saw the game of the year. A miracle if you will. Well, the Miracle League to be exact.

In Cary, NC eight teams took to a specially designed field worth close to a million dollars. That's a pretty good chunk of change. But this surface was not so much of a baseball diamond than it was a field of dreams.

Every Saturday a group of volunteers helps over 100 children from the Raleigh area live out a special day. For all of their lives they have been classified as handicapped or disabled. Now they're termed as "special needs" children.

Well, for one hour each weekend, these kids are now simply Yankees, Braves, Grasshoppers and Mudcats.

When you look close, yes there was a player with a rather large head running the base paths. But this wasn't a home run king whose head grew because of steroids and HGH use (allegedly).

No, this boy named Matthew's head is this way because of a bone in his skull that was shaved down to keep him alive. When he was six months old, he had this done to help make room in his skull for nerve endings to properly connect and send the right messages from his brain to his body. He was left partially paralyzed on his right side as a result. On Saturday, the only message being sent from his brain was the bright smile on his face as he hit the ball of a tee.

It didn't take the lure of millions of dollars or endorsements for Matthew to run his hardest down the first base line. The thrill of being a baseball player for that moment was all he needed thank you.

There were lots of thrills out on the diamond this day. Whether on crutches, with a walker or even in a wheelchair, nothing was going to stop these players from not just enjoying the game of baseball, but having the freedom to be kids.

There was one player named Nicholas who made it from first to third on his walker. But that is where the help ended. That last leg from third to home was something Nicholas wanted to do on his own. There was no way he is going to walk it, his body simply isn't able. So Nicholas gets down on his hands and knees and crawls his way to home plate. Amid a sea of cheers and tears, this little boy showed all the parents and friends in the stands just what the joy of playing this game is about.

Mike and I captured all these moments and more. You'll be able to see them soon on the CT show. This one should be on November 10th.

So if you're a baseball fan, enjoy this next month. Whether it's Derek Jeter with a big hit or the Cubbies finally ending a 100 year curse, it should be exciting. I know I'll get caught up in the moment. These guys are the best players in the world. The can hit the ball farther; throw it harder and more accurate than anyone in the world. I honestly don't begrudge them for the millions of dollars they make. Good for them. Although A-Rod's $250 million contract could set up over 250 new Miracle League fields alone.

I will still watch the best of the best play. But it doesn't matter who the heroes are of this year's fall classic. While the champagne and praise are being poured over the winners' heads in celebration, I will know that they will never play the game with the heart that I saw a group of children play with this past Saturday. That's what the game should be about.

I've just joined the club and the first film I felt the need to comment on was this, "Field of Dreams". Why? Because, firstly, it's haunted me since its release and secondly, because it had such a cathartic effect upon me. Like so many young people, I lost my dad when I was in my teens. I was fifteen. I'm fifty-nine now. The lost opportunity, the grief, cling to you like lead. When you need to discuss the paradoxes of this world with someone, you find they are gone. They will not return. Though by no means a perfect film - would we ever really want to see a perfect film? - it has heart, a centre to it that opens gateways for those bereft, even though unaware, by loss. I remember watching it the first time on the back row of a cinema with my ex-wife - long after back rows had any import - and, at the end, having to physically contain the need to sob uncontrollably. This had never happened to me before (unless you go back to Elvis riding into the hills at the end of Flaming Star when I was but a snivelling - and probably dysfunctional - early teen. The movie is a masterpiece in that it lives with you decades after its first viewing. In that you cannot analyse it, breaking it down cynically into manipulative parts. I've seen thousands of films and with each one that I feel has entered my soul I always ask myself, has it reached beyond Field of Dreams? In some respects the answer is yes, yet these are technical analyses of product. I've never had to do that with Field of Dreams. It is itself and defies scrutiny as would Gandhi defy psychoanalysis. It is, to itself, true. The cast are great. To this day, despite much, I like Kevin Costner. My sole concern is, why the hell can't I buy "Shoeless Joe", the novel upon which it was based and which I read in the late eighties? It contains much more background and is, in itself, an absorbing read. Dave Marshall