Ray of Light

Who knows, but maybe I stumble upon a solution.

Namely, to counter an endlessly relentless and negative news cycle, I shall just go to bed earlier.

Certainly, the world, in so many ways over the past fifteen months, continues to spiral out of control. Optimism in noticeably short supply.

Where to start? How about with the villainous Vladimir Putin and Benjamin Netanyahu? Not to mention the poisonous Donald Trump, an immoral, amoral, cruel, and corrupt criminal masquerading as the USA President and supposed leader of the free world.

So many crises of their own making.

For Trump, and his inner circle of lackeys and bootlickers, deceit on a massive scale, naked contempt for international order, gross incompetence, outrageous self enrichment, blatant bigotry.

Furthermore, economic, political, and social chaos remains evident on many other fronts. From Trump’s betrayal of Ukraine and kowtowing to Putin, to detesting Europe, to an ill advised, ill judged, and ongoing war with Iran.

Never mind the January 6 assault on the Capitol, disastrous tariff policies, the ubiquitous Epstein files, or ICE. Or all the trials and tribulations in the Middle East.

Then factor in endless strutting and posturing about USA takeovers of Canada, Greenland, Cuba, the Caribbean, and the Panama Canal.

And, of course, do not forget Venezuela.

On a happier note, at least for me, in these dark and troubled times, count on sport to again come to the rescue. This time, the salve is baseball.

Without question, all across the country, millions of Canadians are gearing up for Opening Day of the Major League season. For the “hometown” Toronto Blue Jays, who fell by the narrowest of margins in a deciding game 7 playoff vs the Los Angeles Dodgers last October, the goal is clear. Take the final step to a championship. World Series or Bust.

Still, it is other recent events from the diamond which induce an even greater sense of bonhomie.

The 2026 World Baseball Classic runs from March 5-17. Twenty national teams contest the sixth edition of the tournament, with pool games held in the USA, Puerto Rico and Japan. In the end, after considerable drama, the star studded, favoured Americans meet upstart and underrated Venezuela in the final.

Some 37,000 fans pack Loan Deport Park in Miami. In front of, ironically, a noisy, pro-Venezuela crowd, the two teams serve up a thriller. An extra contentious thriller given the recent tumult between the two countries.

Indeed, a January 3 USA military operation kidnaps Venezuelan president Nicolas Maduro and his wife. Both alleged to have committed various crimes, including money laundering and narco-terrorism, they remain in American custody.

Against this uncertainty and politically charged backdrop, and even with the Venezuelan squad focused on baseball and declining to engage in any political rhetoric, the tension is impossible to ignore.

The game begins.

Immediately, from the first pitch, the Venezuelan fans produce a cacophony of sound. Screaming, chanting, waving flags, blaring various instruments. Their reward an early 1-0 lead, via a sacrifice fly. The margin then doubles, courtesy of a straightaway blast to center field for a solo home run.

Meanwhile, crafty lefty Eduardo Rodriguez, assisted by three relief pitchers, completely handcuffs the supposedly stacked USA lineup. The Americans, surprisingly lifeless at the plate, enter the eighth inning still trailing 2-0.

With nerves jangling and tensions mounting, the USA finally gain a foothold in the game. One mighty swing is all it takes. Power hitter Bryce Harper, after a leadoff walk, smashes a home run to deep center. Ties the score at 2-2.

Cue the bedlam. Harper stands at the plate, admiring his monster hit. Tosses the bat towards the USA dugout, poses for the camera, pumps his fist, offers a military style salute, points to the American flag stitched upon his jersey.

Still, the Venezuelans refuse to wilt. No dropping of heads, no slumped shoulders. Rather, they understand that deep seated belief, allied to a timely hit or pitch, can win the key moment.

And so it proves. The ninth inning gets underway. Immediately, the visitors regain the initiative. A walk, a stolen base, then a crucial, clutch go-ahead double sees Venezuela up 3-2.

The USA has no answer. Stunned, the players can only watch as closer Daniel Palencia fittingly delivers a final, nasty, devastating 100mph fastball. Tears streaming down his face even before this pitch, he ignites an emotional Venezuelan celebration.

Via television, I lap up the pictures and the atmosphere. Grown men, having performed superbly in the most important game of their lives, charge about the infield. Draped in Venezuelan flags, crying, hugging, reveling in the occasion.

It is an honour just to watch. America loses, but the world wins. Poetic justice of a sort given the political ramifications. All thanks to Donald Trump’s lawlessness, greed, and chaotic foreign policies.

Significantly, hours after the final out, the Venezuelan fans join the players in belting out “Gloria al Bravo Pueblo,” the national anthem. Hunger, heart, passion, sacrifice, and pride on full display.

And, based on my own experience in Caracas, Venezuela's capital city, over a decade ago, I can imagine thousands of the locals spilling into the streets, well into the late evening. Gathering in the Plaza de la Juventud, banging drums and honking horns. Citizens of a country, at least for a little while, united and together. A country desperately in need of joy and happiness. Of hope for the future.

Perhaps I should not be in such a hurry to head for bed. That is no solution. Instead, I might actually even plan to stay up a bit later than normal.

So to reflect on a sporting success that will forever remain a ray of light amidst the gloom.