Ohio’s senators don’t play hardball on field

Brown

appropriate: a Cincinnati Reds jersey. He tossed a Cleveland Indians jersey to Brown, who duly switched out shirts before resuming the game.

Then, it was time to get serious. The two teams play annually, a good-natured office break from politics and filibusters and government shutdowns. Although the two men are from different political parties and ideologies, they get along, and their staffs work together on issues such as foreign trade and money for Ohio military installations.

But Tuesday’s game wasn’t about politics. It was about another sort of retribution: Portman’s team smoked Brown’s last year, and Brown was hoping to get revenge.

Unfortunately, Brown’s version of trash talk left a bit to be desired.

“They’ve got all these ringers,” he griped. “We play it straight. We don’t, like, recruit. Our interns we have in our office are serious-minded about public policy. I think Rob gets his interns — he, like, interviews people from sports teams.”

It was Major League Baseball’s trading-deadline day. Had Brown or Portman snagged anyone?

Brown ducked the question. So did Portman.

Staff members showed up with big bats, slugging the ball far into the outfield time and time again, but fielding on both sides left something to be desired. A woman walking a baby in a stroller across Folger Park stopped in the middle of the park, then reassessed, backing out of the park to prevent an errant fly ball from concussing her child. A staff member for Portman decided, wisely, to move her car, lest her windshield be shattered by a big yellow softball.

Portman took the mound to pitch. Almost immediately, the tide turned.

The Swing State Sluggers cheered, jumping, rejoicing as if reliving the thwarted 2016 Supreme Court nomination of Merrick Garland by then-President Barack Obama. The Blue Collars looked comparatively morose, with one Brown intern, clad in a suit, lamenting that he couldn’t play because “yesterday was a legs day” and his hamstring was sore.

Brown decided to rally the troops. He continued reciting the classic Ernest Lawrence Thayer poem “Casey at the Bat,” which is a well-regarded poem but hardly the sort of motivational missive offered by legendary team managers, or jocks of any kind, really. Brown managed a triple off Portman, sliding into third base as his team shouted encouragement. He was called safe (he was not safe).

Portman, meanwhile, wasn’t exactly cutthroat. When one Brown player struck out and headed away from the plate. Portman called him back. “One more,” he said, and offered another toss.

“That’s a nice boss you have,” Brown said from the sidelines. “I’d never do that.”

The Swing State Sluggers kept slugging. Their score crept up. Finally, in the bottom of the fifth, they tied it up.

Portman was asked how he had turned the game around. Was it a “Win one for the Gipper” speech? Threats of Senate filibusters?

“Honestly … I did not motivate the team,” he said, acknowledging that he kept allowing the Democrats to keep swinging rather than letting them strike out. He did, however, cop to a few brushback pitches against Brown “to keep him honest.”

A Portman staff member approached the batter’s box. A swing, a hit and the rounding of the bases to win the game.

If a blue wave is coming, it wasn’t starting that day.

Brown gave a “What are you going to do?” look, then lined up to congratulate the other team.

“I gotta finish ‘Casey at the Bat,’” he said, and headed over to his team, revising the final verses of the poem. Across the park, Portman’s team assembled for a group photo.

“There was no joy in Mudville,” Brown said. “Portman’s team cursed us with strikes.”