“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” — Ancient proverb of unknown origins.
“Venus if you do, I promise that I always will be true.” — Frankie Avalon, 1959, “Venus.”
“Grampaw swears that he’s not gonna order catfish, but he always does.” — Bob Evans, feel-good advertisement.
“I kept my promise.” — Eva Peron in “Eva.”
“You made me promises promises… You knew you’d never keep.” Burt Bacharach and Hal David, 1968
“I’m Standing on the Promises of God.” — An old-time hymn
The year was 1994, a year of discontent because during that fateful summer there was a Major League Baseball strike that boldly shut down the season all the way through what should have been the World Series.
Baseball fans all over the land were understandably outraged about the whole matter and they turned their displeasure toward the striking players. Many I overheard railed against high-paid men playing a boys’ game and not appreciating that “Base-a-ball has been berry, berry good to me.”
There was even a Nike advertisement that exhorted the players and owners to gather at the bargaining table to “play ball” again. But it was not to be, and America’s Pastime was a casualty in 1994.
The reason: Follow the money. Consult the Apostle Paul with “The Love of Money Is the Root of All Evil.”
Fans were so upset that I heard many of them promise to never darken the door of ballparks again and never to spend a dime on anything connected with the pariah that Major League Baseball had become.
After the players returned to the game in 1995, many of those who promised to stay away indeed greeted them with a very cool reception.
But just a few years later, the fans were back in the ballparks and glued to their TV sets watching the home run wars crafted by Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and Barry Bonds.
Baseball fans were acting like the jilted lover welcoming back the girlfriend or boyfriend that had done them wrong. Promises, promises.
I personally ran afoul twice of my vows to never return to the stadiums. In 1995 my children were invited to Tiger Stadium for free as members of the Boy Scouts and I dutifully tagged along. In 2011, son Robby picked up tickets for a Father’s Day contest at Coors Field, featuring Justin Verlander throwing against the Colorado Rockies. Otherwise, I have managed to resist the temptation to be welcomed back to the ballpark. I reasoned that I didn’t want to lay my money down to watch fat-cat millionaire ballplayers help billionaire owners get even richer at my expense.
Another example of “Promises, promises,” eye-rolling was in t he fall of 1965 when I witnessed the teen-age outrage over remarks by Beatle John Lennon that the four mop-tops were “More popular than Jesus Christ.” Many promised they would never buy anything connected with the wildly popular Brits and never buy their records. There were many reports of record burnings in a very public showing of disgust.
Yet about six months later, many of these same people were expressing admiration about the imagery of “Eleanor Rigby” and good fun in “Yellow Submarine.”
The threats of boycotting the Beatles were about as successful as those against baseball in 1994.
Fast forward to 2020, when I have noticed a huge number of promises by Americans to avoid buying anything made in China because of that country’s alleged role in COVID-19 and because they didn’t like the U.S. being dependent of goods manufactured elsewhere.
Many of these people through the years have had no problem purchasing a lot of stuff at Wal-Mart, not caring a whit about where it came from.
During my brief stint as a substitute teacher I often asked all students in class to check the tags in back of their trendy Hilliker, Abercrombie & Fitch, Old Navy and Hollister T-shirts and sweat shirts to learn and announce where each was manufactured. Of course, most were assembled in Mexico, Thailand, Vietnam, Bangladesh, China and Honduras. One time a student announced his clothing was made in the USA. I was so impressed I asked the remaining students to give him a standing ovation.
The point here is that I totally agree with those who say we should buy American and support our local businesses. Yet I wonder how long these promises will fade and we go back to our wicked, wicked ways.