McMurphy, a perpetual ball player, knows that psychological introspection on a group basis is just a trick to make him take his eye off the ball. Without a ball and a bat, far from a real baseball field, he has to either blow some life into the mouths of the dead around him or condemn himself to just thinking about playing perpetual baseball alone with himself in the terrible solitude of a mind cut off from the bounce of emotion. Perpetual baseball, like baseball itself, is a game requiring individual boldness and initiative, but individual effort cannot come to fruition (without the miracle of a home run) unless combined with a team of individuals trying to aid one another and using the same bases of security in order to fulfill their mission. Perpetual baseball is a team sport and Ratched has McMurphy’s team on their butts in a vicious circle where questions do not seek real answers and guilt is the name of the game. She is striking them all out. Their bats seem clumsy and useless. They lack the power to even begin the journey on the base paths. How easy it would be to coach his team and get his players and himself going if he and his eight disciples were on a real ball field in a real game and Ratched were but the enemy pitcher on the mound! McMurphy could jump up and shout encouragement with words everyone could understand. Wait for a good pitch! Keep your eye on the ball! She’s throwing you curves! It would be the easiest thing in the world to make his players see that she was trying to get them out of the game completely, to nullify them, to strike them out. And he himself could jump into the game, go to bat for his team, make something happen. But they are not on a ball field, they are mice in a laboratory with a well-meaning scientist who is not even aware that she is forcing them to submit to the law of an evil experiment. If McMurphy were to jump up from his seat in the vicious circle and try to save his disciples by hoping beyond hope that they could imagine they were in a game on a ball field, if he were to jump up and shout, “Wait for a good pitch! She’s striking you out! She’s trying to rig the game!”, if he were, so to speak, to start announcing the rules for perpetual baseball right in Ratched’s laboratory, where only the game of perpetual reason counts, his disciples would only believe that he was crazy and nurse Ratched’s laboratory approach would win the game because McMurphy would be a case study before their eyes of that wildness that obeys only the laws of life and speaks its own language. McMurphy would show himself as he truly is but in a way that would make him seem to be really crazy.
The question then is not whether McMurphy, a poker player, will put up or shut up. He must shut up because Ratched’s well-meaning mind does not hear any words that do not fit a programmed groove of mathematical meaning and syntax. She does not catch any words that she cannot throw back in a pat sentence that has the firm indifference of a straightjacket. Words alone will not produce the miracle of speaking to his disciples of the tree of life because he can only speak to them, with Ratched refereeing her own game, through a word processor that edits out any nuances that speak of unpredictable possibilities. Ordinary words are just another routine out. He must put up a bet voiced in words able to duck the fists of Ratched’s logic yet secretly with the power to lead his poor souls to some blessed, unspeakable redemption. Four cards are now dealt face up to all the players and they all lose if someone does not have an ace in the hole.
At the next board meeting, the following afternoon, McMurphy turns over his hidden card:
Nurse Ratched: Last time we were discussing Mr. Harding and the problem with his wife, and I think we were making a lot of progress. So who would like to begin today? Mr. McMurphy?
McMurphy: Yeah. I’ve been thinking about what you said about uh, you know, getting things off your chest, and uh well there’s a couple of things that I’d like to get off my chest.
Nurse Ratched: Well that’s very good, Mr. McMurphy. Go ahead.
McMurphy: OK. Today as you may or may not know—it doesn’t matter—is the opening of the World Series. What I’d like to suggest is that we change the work detail to night so that we can watch the ball game.
The World Series! Up to this point, watching the film, we have not really listened to the talk of the board because the members, Ratched included, have not said anything that comes from themselves. But now we feel the tension and excitement of some new possibility, we hear the words of a new language. We all obey laws, like McMurphy’s disciples, of sterile obligations that war against our deeper obligation to create ourselves in a way that befits our human dignity. We all take absent problems seriously. But here is an absent business that is real. All they have to do to know the sorrows and joys, the outs and base hits of a free enterprise is to turn on the television set!
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Click on the URL to read all of "Perpetual Baseball": www.usoftheworld.com/culture