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Sometimes when I am alone, the peace within shatters like a broken bat, but not a sound is made. It’s an overwhelming, heavy quiet that briefly smothers something inside me though I’m not sure what. My breath stops for just a moment, and a single tear rolls down my cheek. Sometimes, when I am alone, I cry from my right eye.

It distracted me at first. I was non-crier who became intermittently cursed with one more thing that was beyond my control. The 1010 WCSI side of me was sure I had the makings of a Top 10 hit with “Sometimes I cry from my right eye.” That hope dwindled every time Hank Williams, Jr., belted out “There's a tear in my beer.” His line topped mine.

The “if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it” dilemma intrigues me. Did it really fall? Similarly, if any of us can count our tears, are we really crying? The back of my hand said "yes" when I brushed off the moisture, but the lack of understanding of a definite why shouted, “No, you’re not. You’re just crazy.”

More than likely grief is the catalyst. We all face it but don’t always talk about it with others. Grief and depression don’t show up when life hits us with serious mishaps, but they wait in the back of the dugout. It’s a part of the game even if it doesn’t happen right after the hard stuff slugs our souls over the scoreboard and spoils a perfect game. During those innings I am as apt to cry as anyone.

Losses hurt, especially when they snowball into cold streaks. Yet, all those memories and moments rarely open up my wail gates, but they can make me teary eyed. What they don’t do is release a solitary bead that meanders into my beard. Grief bides its time to do that.

I suppose that a lot of people have a comparable condition and feel confused as well. Depression? Tear gland problem? Daily pressures? Inquiring minds want to know what squeezes out that salty sphere. We’d definitely like to know when the next curve ball is coming.

The best of poets, maybe even Ernest Thayer and his Mudville nine, cry from the left eye and the right eye and have geyser-like outbursts from both at the same time. Afterwards similes and metaphors flow from the floodwaters, and the classics spill out.

“Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall” by Ella Fitzgerald. “Tears In Heaven” by Eric Clapton. “Cry Me A River” by Julie London. “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Good songs happen for a reason. They let us know that we are normal, not crazy.

In "A League of Their Own", Manager Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks) took the Frankie Vallie approach and shouted, “Are you crying? Are you crying? There's no crying! There's no crying in baseball!” Sometimes I need the lecture, but a part of me knows that crying can be healthy.

Actually, I’m more apt to take advise from a Cub’s shortstop than from the manager of the Rockford Peaches. Mr. Sunshine, the one and only Ernie Banks, said, “It's a great day for a ball game; let's play two!” I want to be an all-star like him, even if I need a break once in a while and a mitt made of supple leather to catch a tear when the peace within shatters.

Age has hindered my travel options with the Cubs and the Peaches, but I’ve been on the field long enough to have snagged a few pointers. Here’s today’s short list:

1. If I was a real poet, I’d have cashed in on that country song and have royalties to cover a few bills.

2. Invest in long sleeve jerseys made of soft, absorbent material. When a tear appears, you can hide the evidence if you feel the need.

3. Grief lingers far beyond the baseball season because there will always be greater losses than the scorebook shows. That sorrow hangs around after the slugfest of emotions and events have bruised our hearts. And sometimes it irritates a right eye or two.

Life is a challenge I love but is difficult at times. Working through the aches and pains and old injuries and accepting the Balm of Gilead if the trainer has some can prepare us for our “A” game. Occasionally we all need a little healing and the strength to say, “Put me in, Coach, for both games today.”

Let’s make our own sunshine and keep playing. Believing that “It’s a beautiful day for a ball game” helps.