A BASEBALL LESSON FOR CROSS-COUNTRY TEAMS

In trying times, it's nice to find comfort, and perhaps lessons, in the national pastime. Given today's uneasy world, we can at least try to relax and enjoy the wrap-up of the baseball season, especially when it may yield a grain of truth about other sports, those with more than seven minutes of action packed into three hours of spitting and posturing.

Okay, I'm not a baseball fan. George Will IS, which is a good enough reason not to be, but my disinterest runs deeper than that. Baseball is a sport riddled with drugs, but with little will to clean house. Players are out of shape. Then there's this air of entitlement, the notion that Americans are duty bound to swoon over the game. But finally, it's the arrogant, preening, self-aggrandizing superstars who send my enthusiasm packing. Baseball's focus on individual talent and personal statistics are capitalism's excesses alive on the playing field, Ayne Rand in a jockstrap.

And that's why I like the Seattle Mariners. Admittedly, if you live in the Northwest it's REQUIRED, at least this season, to be an M's fan. But they've also legitimately earned my respect. I have no doubt that the team can be accused of many of the sins I've just leveled against baseball in general, but they've also taught an important lesson, one worth repeating: They are, first and foremost, a TEAM.

In the past few years, the Mariners have lost most of their superstars, the ones whose individual talent was supposed to bring success to the franchise. But as the Big Unit, A-Rod and Junior shuffled on to drier pastures, management replaced them with a different breed of player. Talented individuals, no doubt, but mostly players whose motivation was to contribute. Players more interested in the final score than in their own stats. Players who do whatever they can, every game, to help. And by the end of the regular season, that novel approach resulted in an astounding 116 victories.

And that brings us--no kidding!--to cross-country. Like baseball, running is a sport with a deep mythology honoring individual achievement. We celebrate record breakers, plucky victories, brilliant last laps in which one man or one woman outshines the field while muscles turn to stone. We love the rebellious, solitary distance runner, the one who refuses to quit against long odds. Me too.

But cross-country goes beyond that. As exciting and unlifting as individual success may be, the race winner, the conference star, and even the state champion don't generate team victories alone. Cross-country competitions are won as often by the fifth man as the first. Every runner counts.

Good cross-country teams work year-round in fostering spirit and cohesion. Train as a group, stay interested in how your teammates are feeling, pass on a word of encouragement to stragglers. Run races as a pack, or in sub-packs, sticking together for mutual support and intimidation of the opposing team. A rallying shout, or even a knowing glance in your teammate's direction, can make the difference. Whoever you are, wherever you are, try to make a difference. Yes, you have to run your own race, propel yourself forward. But part of your singular motivation is...you're connected to a team.

That's the philosophy the Mariners adopted this season, and it's the reason they've had a spectacular year. And their commitment to teamwork has brought me back, at least for another week or so, to being interested in the national pastime.

Or maybe I'm mistaken. Perhaps the Mariners shouldn't get credit for teaching us this lesson. Maybe they learned it themselves, spending their free time watching good cross-country teams in action.