Written by: Rob Touchstone
I loved Mary Gill like a grandmother. We worked on a church staff together for almost 11 years. I was the youth minister. She worked the front desk, answered the phones, and took care of whatever needed to be done. Mary was a true servant and everyone knew she did the real work of the church.
Our birth years may have been more than a few decades apart but Mary and I became fast friends. She and I had much in common, especially our love for Jesus and baseball. Almost every day our conversations about church and work and Jesus somehow included our beloved Atlanta Braves. We shared a fandom that must have annoyed the rest of the staff as we talked and talked endlessly about everything from on base percentages to pitching matchups. When they endured a losing streak or weren't playing particularly well I'd often be greeted at the church office door with, "Rob, what are we going to do with our Braves?" The team should have hired her as a consultant because she knew exactly what she would do to remedy whatever ailed the team.
One morning I made a whimsical decision I will never regret. I walked into the church office and announced, "Mary, we're going to Atlanta. Together. I'm going to take you to a game." I don't think she believed I was serious at first. She laughed it off and said, "Well that sounds like fun but I'm probably too old to make the three and half hour trip." But her sly grin dared me to formally buy the tickets with a look that seemed to say, "But I just might try."
The perfect opportunity arose and she couldn't resist. It was October of 2012. The 162-game regular season had ended and the Braves would face the Cardinals in the inaugural Wild Card play-in game to determine who would move on to the National League Division Series. It was win or go home. To add to the drama, Chipper Jones had announced his retirement that season and we all knew this could be the last time he would ever suit up for the Braves.
October 5th arrived and we were ready for the big game. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a good idea at her age but we were doing this. I told her we were going to take my Jeep Wrangler with the top and doors off, but thought better of it and instead showed up in my wife's mini-van. I think she was disappointed but she got over it. At least now she didn't have to worry about her hair.
My eight year old son, John Mark, joined us for what became his first Major League baseball game. The three of us talked life and baseball all the way while listening to all the pregame excitement on the radio. As always, Mary was filled with such joy. She was posing for selfies with us on the MARTA ride all the way to our seats at Turner Field.
She moved well for an almost eighty year old and made it just fine as she sported her Braves shirt, hat, and foam tomahawk. I will never forget her childlike joy as we cheered, chanted, and chopped our way through eight tense innings of trying to will our Braves to come behind from a 6-3 deficit.
And then came the bottom of the eighth. I've been to hundreds of Braves games throughout my lifetime and have never seen anything like it. The Braves were threatening a comeback and we dared to believe as Andrelton Simmons came to the plate representing the potential tying run with two on. The stadium erupted as Simmons hit a fly ball to shallow left field that looked like an easy out but dramatically fell in for a hit. The bases were loaded with one out and the potential go-ahead run was coming to the plate for the clutch-hitting Brian McCann. And that's when it happened.
The umpires huddled. And after a few excruciating moments umpire Sam Holbrook pumped his fist into the air to signal an out. He had invoked what would become one of the most controversial infield fly rule calls in baseball history. He simultaneously invoked the wrath of 52,631 fans including Mary and me. The fans revolted, littering the field with trash for a solid 30 minutes as the PA announcer begged, pleaded, and finally warned fans that the game was going to be forfeited if they didn't stop throwing trash onto the field. We nervously watched cups and cans fly across the stadium as we tried to distract John Mark from all the obscenities being shouted at the umpires. My running joke was that Mary started the whole riot by throwing her cup onto the field.
The game finally resumed after what must have been the longest fan-induced stoppage of play in Major League history. We cheered, chanted, and chopped some more and then we nearly cried. Our beloved Braves couldn't quite overcome. We witnessed with our own eyes what became Chipper's final major league at bat, an infield single. We stood with Chipper and our beloved Braves until the very end.
We griped about that lousy infield fly rule call all the way home. Like always, our conversation came back to Jesus. I may or may not have convinced Mary that the enforcement of the infield fly rule we witnessed was a good example of the dangers of legalism.
Our conversations did indeed almost always come back to Jesus. Because faith, hope, and love was the ultimate thing we had in common. Mary was joyous about baseball. But that was nothing compared to how joyous she was about Jesus. He was her true love.
I am so blessed to have witnessed the last few innings of a life so beautifully lived. In the bottom of her ninth inning I have no doubt she was cheering for Jesus more than ever even if her body couldn't keep up. And I know He cheered for her in her final at bat as she rounded the bases and headed for her eternal home.
I love you, Mary. I don't know if we'll still be talking about baseball in heaven. But I do know we'll talk about Jesus. Better yet, we'll talk to Jesus. Together. Maybe He can explain that silly infield fly rule.
