How Lou Gehrig’s life taught me to fight for Prop. 50

I have ALS, an incurable and fatal disease. There’s a good chance I will die within a few years.

But my spirit feels optimistic. My game is in the middle innings — lots of time left.

Baseball is an apt metaphor because ALS is “Lou Gehrig’s disease.” The legendary New York Yankee died from it. Despite his condition, he told his fans, “I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

He was fortunate to make a living playing baseball. As a former semipro player, and as a lifelong fan of the game, I realize how magical that was.

But I also wonder: Was Gehrig feeling hopeful about beating ALS?

I know I am. I walk with a limp and speak with a slur, but in the grand scheme of things, I feel fortunate — and weirdly hopeful.

I’m hopeful that the cure for ALS is around the corner, despite the Trump administration’s unfortunately successful efforts to dismantle the U.S. medical research establishment.

I’m hopeful, too, because my health crisis has brought unexpected blessings. As a lifelong liberal whose family is proudly MAGA, I gave up on the notion of quiet discussions about politics. My condition changed that.

For example, at a recent dinner, this question was directed to me: “Does Trump know about the research stuff getting cut, or is it just Kennedy doing his thing?”

I didn’t have an answer about what Trump knows or what Kennedy’s thing might be, but when the follow-up was “What can I do to help?” I had an answer:

“Vote yes on Proposition 50” — the measure in California that aims to shift more seats in Congress to Democratic control.

Which caused rueful smiles. I’m a liberal snowflake. My fatal disease hadn’t changed that.

My family’s faces betrayed the underlying question, “What does an obvious power grab from that lefty weirdo Gavin Newsom have to do with helping you?”

I was able to speak with the gravitas of the dreadfully ill: “I know you want to see a cure for ALS.”

“Yes,” my very MAGA nephew said loudly, as everyone nodded.

“America was making big progress,” I said. “Then the White House cut so many medical programs. Not just for ALS. They cut research into heart disease. And Alzheimer’s. And a bunch of other stuff.”

Like most families, ours has many senior citizens. Cancer, dementia and other age-related problems constantly pop up in conversation.

“So you know Trump has cut those programs too, right?” I asked.

“Or maybe Kennedy did,” my nephew muttered.

Once my family was discussing whether Trump or Kennedy was most responsible for cutting needed medical programs, we were on an unexpectedly liberal roll. When they got back to Gov. Newsom’s power grab, I was able to agree with them: “You’re right,” I say. “It’s about power. I met him last weekend, and he said as much.”

Which was true. Newsom attended a backyard party I co-hosted for the Yes on 50 campaign. He said, bluntly, “It’s all about power,” referring to the Trump plan to add five Republican seats in Texas to protect the unpopular GOP’s control of Congress in the midterms. “How you do the right thing is to get in those positions of power, so you can actually move the levers.”

My family has long been skeptical about Democrats. Now, as the party steps up to fight, they are inclined to see things differently. It’s like they were waiting to see the Dems throw some punches.

I get that. I’ve also been waiting for the Democratic establishment to stand up and fight. Although there is a great deal to be said for “going high,” the time for genteel discussion is over. The Trump chaos is just too loud.

Gehrig, too, lived in chaos. The Great Depression wasn’t over. A different generation of fascists was ascending. Racism was then, as it is now, deeply embedded in U.S. culture.

But Gehrig supported Black players at a time when the color line was firm. He believed that “there is no room in baseball for discrimination.” He spoke out against the rise of Nazi Germany very early on.

I’m no Gehrig, but right now, every day, I’m working to end the madness and cruelty of the Trump administration. The best tool we have — Proposition 50 — faces skepticism from voters.

I talk about it to fellow baseball fans like this: “You’re the manager of the Dem team. Trump puts eight players in his outfield. Do you put eight players in your outfield too?”

It’s an imperfect analogy, but it gets to the heart of things. We can play by the old rules and lose. Or we can play by the same rules — and maybe win.

Kevin J. Morrison is a consultant for nonprofit and other private-sector organizations and a senior producing director at Stanford University.