An Uneasy Return

In the summer of 1940, as German bombs rained down on England, Winston Churchill decided not to close the movie theaters. He wanted to demonstrate his nation could take Adolf Hitler’s best shots and also wanted to buoy British morale by offering his compatriots some surcease at their beloved cinemas. He called it their “finest hour.”

Once again a nation, this time ours, is confronted by a vicious attack. The World Trade Center and Pentagon calamities were so serious that virtually all of American life came to a standstill.

Now the question is: When should we begin to go about our business again?

We all want to be respectful of the thousands who have died or who have been spending nights and days trying to save lives or alleviate suffering. We also want to be defiant. We want to show that, like the Londoners in 1940, we can take a shot to the chin and carry on.

How long should we mourn? When should baseball and football, modest as they are, resume their seasons?

In 1989, when the San Francisco earthquake hit as the third game of the World Series was about to start, I was the brand-new baseball commissioner.

We obviously couldn’t play until Candlestick Park was proved safe and the city fathers were comfortable, the necessary police and related support could be spared from more serious activities. We waited 12 days before resuming the Series.

I said: “Baseball is a modest little game. We know our place.”

The true priorities were the governmental ones: to save lives, ensure public safety and protect against future disruptions. Once life began to come back to normal, we could think about playing.

And finally, when the city had made remarkable progress toward stability, we were given authority by the mayor to return to Candlestick to play. In fact, the Series lasted only two more games as the Oakland A’s, led by Rickey Henderson, ran off with the championship.

The principal lesson I took away from my experience in 1989 is that Americans are an admirably hardy and resilient lot. We bounce back quickly.

Indeed, I recall meeting a young couple on an elevator, toward the end of the 12-day hiatus, and asking them whether we should play again.

“Yes,” they said. “It’s important to show that the city is alive and well, even if it’s been hurt. You can help all of us see that the worst is over.”

Sport has the continuing obligation to remember its place. Sometimes we get so close to it, we think it is important. But these are games being played.

It is our entertainment and except for owners and players, it is not our business. Win or lose, we get up the next morning and go to work.

In 1989, we had to decide whether to cancel the World Series out of respect for the earthquake victims. In some quarters, I was severely criticized for not doing so. We chose, instead, to follow the Churchill example.

In the current crisis, no one has suggested the football and baseball seasons be aborted.

The question is, when to resume play.

On that, like on most tough issues, reasonable minds will differ. There must be a respectful period in which to adjust to the new circumstances after the attacks. There must be time to mourn, to console, to recover our national sense of balance after so overwhelming a series of blows.

But then, we must go on. We must, like Churchill and his compatriots, prove we can take anything that comes our way. And yet we will, relatively quickly, require diversion and entertainment. The tired fire and police personnel, the exhausted medical and government workers will welcome rest and then recreation.

One cannot stare at tragedy too long. It, like the sun, forces us to turn away. And if the good people of San Francisco are an example, Americans will quickly dig out and adjust to the new conditions imposed by these latest attacks.

We will come back and just then, as we emerge from the soot and dust of this misery, the lovely green of the ballyard will signal, like the spring after a harsh winter, that life and even baseball must and will go on.

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Fay Vincent was commissioner of baseball from 1989-92 .