Baseball's a metaphor for Aboriginal life

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Tansi, ahnee and hello. There's a certain amount of difficultly that arises from playing a game of baseball with the enthusiasm of a 20-year old but using a 37-year-old body. You discover on the field when the flyball you would normally have chased down with grace and dignity skims over your head. Then you notice it the next morning as soon as you try to move.

That's where I'm at this morning as I write this. The various aches, pains, cramps and stiffness keeping me company today are vociferous reminders of yesterday's fun.

I've had an almost 30-year love affair with baseball. There's still the passionate affinity for the game I held at nine but it's tampered these days by a more adult rationalism. I've gone beyond the field of dreams and come to recognize baseball as an almost perfect metaphor for life - Aboriginal life in particular.

It came back to me yesterday while gazing in from my position in centre field. You can think the most glorious thoughts while waiting for the pitch to be thrown and the swing of the bat. Anyway, it was then that the idea of baseball as a metaphor came back to me.

The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples is winding its way towards Alberta. Soon it will be our turn as Native organizations, agencies and communities to express our sentiments regarding our realities to this vaunted body. They, in turn, will record our presentations and prepare a voluminous report to government sometime within the next three years.

Within the death of the national referendum last October and the subsequent turn by certain key national Native organizations away from Aboriginal self-government and towards the nebulous arena of healing, the Royal Commission is the only game in town worth the price of a ticket.

In terms of the metaphor, we're throwing the pitches and they're catching.

Still, there are those out there who bemoan the commission process. There are disparaging voices in our communities who say that the Royal Commission is a hoax and that we've been through this all before. There are those who claim that the process is too selective and that those who really have a valid reason to express their concerns are being denied that opportunity because the commission is operating under the "by invitation only" method.

More voices say that three years is too long to wait. That what our communities need is action and action now rather than the going-through-the-motions routine of the Royal Commission. A cacophony of voices with the echoes of their futile referendum "yes" vote ringing in their heads.

These are the hecklers in the stands. The ones who miss the fine points in the game because they're too busy making a mockery of the players.

Perhaps there is a certain truth to what they say. Certainly, Canada's aboriginal peoples have been the object of a wealth of high-priced scrutiny in the past and the present state of action from our national representatives is more comatose than frenetic. After the whirl of activity of the last decade this lull might seem deafening.

In terms of the metaphor, however, I choose to believe that this is just the seventh inning stretch.

Maybe baseball is the perfect metaphor for Aboriginal life. Because in terms of current political motions we need to remember a very basic game-winning premise. If you're always swinging for the fences you sometimes miss the opportunity to just get on base. In baseball and in life it's singles that win ball games more than grand slam home runs.

Right now, the Royal Commission is the only game in town. Sometimes you have to give up heckling when you're perturbed about the action, pick up a mitt and get in the game.

I won't be part of the presentations to this commission but I will be talking to those who are and expressing my concerns about certain aggressive realities. I will choose to believe that these representatives will include my disenchantment in their reports and that they will be acted upon. And I will attend hearings hen they arrive.

The aches and pains I feel this morning aren't the greatest things to endure. It's unpleasant to groan with each and every motion . But underneath all that is a glimmering of satisfaction despite the agony. Because at least, I was in the game.

Until next time, Meegwetch.