Baseball in a Parallel Universe

“Facts matter. Science matters. The truth matters. You don’t get to pick your own reality.” — Gavin Newsom

I try to write about baseball, but it feels impossible when the president is a fucking clown show. Trump isn’t a figure from the past. He’s the president in the minds of millions, still dominating the stage, still dictating the headlines, still shaping the way politics works in America. He is the noise that won’t shut off, the carnival barker who somehow convinced people the tent collapsing around them was proof of his genius. I laugh when Gavin Newsom cuts him down. I love the way Newsom mocks him with precision, the way he makes Trump look small. But then I get sad, because that is what leadership has come down to in this country. We measure greatness by who can dunk on the loudest fool in the room. That is not leadership. That is survival in a circus.

I like Newsom. I’ll say it. He carries himself with confidence, and when he goes toe to toe with Trump he looks like a grown-up in a room full of chaos. But it frustrates me too. It should not take polish and perfect lines to look competent. It should not feel like brilliance just to appear sane. The bar has been dragged so low that simply showing basic composure feels like statesmanship. And people wonder why so many of us are exhausted.

What wears me down most isn’t even the politicians. It’s the people. People baffle me. They unsubscribe because of who I follow, not what I write. They cut you off not for your arguments but for your associations. They live in bubbles so airtight that fact and fiction don’t matter anymore. They’ll dismiss doctors and scientists and trust whatever bullshit they find on the internet. They celebrate their own ignorance, proud of it, waving it like a flag. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of people who think their opinion, built on a meme or a podcast, carries the same weight as decades of research. I’m tired of people who would rather burn everything down than admit they might be wrong.

And yet, every so often, something jolts me. When Marjorie Taylor Greene stood with victims, I was impressed. I don’t like her politics. I don’t like the way she operates. I don’t like the chaos she thrives on. But in that moment, she showed a shred of humanity. That doesn’t erase the rest of it, but it reminded me that we used to be allowed to recognize decency in someone we disagree with. Now, even admitting that feels like betrayal. That is how deep the divide is.

Chicago isn’t on fire. I live there half the time. I walk the streets, I see the families on the lakefront, the kids heading to school, the workers rushing to catch the train. California isn’t burning either. I work there a lot. I drive the streets, eat at the restaurants, meet the people. Yes, both places have problems, but they are not the apocalyptic wastelands the talking heads pretend they are. People cling to these lies because they want to believe in collapse. They want to cheer for failure because it gives them an enemy to hate.

That’s the part that pushes me toward baseball. The game is not perfect, but it is honest. It doesn’t care about your politics or your opinions. You can’t fake a .220 batting average. You can’t lie your way into October. Over 162 games, the truth comes out. You either perform or you don’t. You either step up or you fail. And when you fail, baseball doesn’t let you gaslight your way out of it. You own it. You wear it. Then you come back the next day and try again.

I think about Pete Rose, who could not tell the truth until it was too late. I think about Curt Flood, who risked everything because he believed dignity mattered more than comfort. I think about Jackie Robinson, who faced hate every time he stepped on the field and still played the game harder than anyone else. Baseball has always been tied to the real world. It has always reflected the fights, the flaws, and the beauty of this country. It has always been a mirror. But unlike politics, unlike culture, unlike the noise that surrounds us, baseball still shows me that integrity matters.

I feel like I’m living in a parallel universe most days. Either that, or maybe I was lucky for most of my life, protected from just how ugly people can be, and now I’m finally seeing the world as it really is. And I don’t like it. I don’t like the anger, the ignorance, the arrogance. I don’t like the people who cheer for collapse, who embrace cruelty, who confuse lies with strength. Some days I don’t like people at all.

But I keep coming back to baseball. Not because it saves me, but because it keeps me grounded. It reminds me that truth still counts. It reminds me that effort still matters. It reminds me that character still shows. And it makes me believe, even when the world is drowning in bullshit, that reality has a way of surfacing.

This is where I stand. I see the circus. I see the president screaming his lies, I see the polished governors sparring with him, I see the people tearing each other apart. I am angry and I am tired, but I refuse to surrender to ignorance. Baseball is not an escape for me. It is a compass. It points me back to honesty, to discipline, to the idea that failure is not the end as long as you own it and try again. In a world that feels like it has lost its mind, baseball is still real. And for now, that is enough.