The Sandlot
Nostalgia can be a powerful motivator in life. Wistful affection for a past time and place that will never be experienced again creates a mixed feeling of love, gratitude, and sorrow. The place may still be there in name, but present experiences seem like a cheap impostor. Nostalgia makes for great novels, heartfelt screen plays, award winning movies, songs, marketing campaigns, and even political campaigns. Presidents Harding, Nixon, Reagan, Bush I and II all campaigned on messages of nostalgia for times that were better, it worked for them. I will not attempt to soil this post to relate it to the current orange monster who lurks in the fog of nostalgia.
“Back to the Future” was my favorite Hollywood tale based on nostalgia. Released in 1985, the film rode off of our nation’s desire to return to the “Happy Days” of the 1950’s. This is the message that secured a political ass kicking led by Ronald Wilson Reagan. Marty McFly is a kid who actually returns to a time that he had heard his elders speak of with fondness and affection. Like most white children of the 80’s, Marty was surrounded by family stories, movies, songs, and tv shows of Fonzie-like characters whose exploits were the lore of gods. When Marty does return to 1955 he finds that the past was not anything like the tales he was raised on. Bullies ruled the town, racism and segregation were rampant, the idea of an actor as president was laughable, and even his self-righteous mother was a lost degenerate in search of sex and booze. After 24 hours in 1955 Marty was more than willing to get struck by lightning just to get the hell out of there and back to modern times. Moral of the story… nostalgia can be misleading.
“The Sandlot” is another great tale. I relate to this one the most. Not as a baseball player, but more as the character of “Smalls” finding a purpose in the sandlot of Carnitas. Like Smalls, I was the new kid who was a magnet of heckling. Unlike Smalls, I truly deserved it. My mouth often had a mind of its own, resulting in the ass kicking pictured at the top of the page. Other times I would get duct-taped to street lights, lifeguard towers, and other public fixtures. Ahhhh the nostalgia of grom abuse, something the future crews of John John hopefuls may never experience. But was it really that great? I’m going to say yes. I feel fortunate that I was able to experience the sandlot between Ponto and Pillbox when it resembled the Lord of the Flies…. free of parking passes, surf camps, SUPs, webcams, and gun toting lifeguards searching for open containers and leashless dogs.
Raising two young kids who enjoy the water and the beach, but are clearly not addicted to the sunrise-to-sunset daily adventures in the sandlot like I was at their age, I often catch myself wondering why they’re not obsessed. I believe the answer is in the root of my nostalgia. The sandlot does not offer what it used to. The escape from the structure, rules, and norms of suburban life is no longer found on the beaches and in the water of Carnitas. Anarchist community lightly anchored by traditional etiquette, sprinkled with the slightest hint of home town values no longer exists. The filming helicopter parents have infiltrated and transplanted the suburban rules at the shore. The parking pass lot lizards with the freshest boards are the new self-proclaimed Sheriffs. The yuppy with the largest boat-like SUP and fastest paddle now rules the peak, much like the hottest Mercedes on the road cutting you off and nabbing that parking spot you have been waiting for. Sure, you can pull them out of their luxury car and beat the shit out of ‘em, but they have the law on their side. They have god on their side. Etiquette is dead.
The sandlot does not offer my children the same lifestyle that it offered me. I get it. Thank God for Mexico. At least our neighbors to the south have not completely shit all over their sandlots like we have. If the orange monster happens to win next month, if his nostalgic message of fear and hate convinces the 270 electoral votes needed, then Mexico had better build that wall high enough to keep me out. Otherwise they’re gonna have to deal with me full time.
