I confess. I am a news junkie.

To those who know me, especially the East Boothbay native who somehow agreed to spend her life with me, this is no secret. The first day I walked into a newspaper city room, there was a vibe that triggered the part of my brain that gave me a jolt of something.

There I discovered wire service machines announcing a disaster here, a crisis there, and other events reminding us of our terrible humanity. Telephones rang, typewriters (remember them?) clattered, people yelled at each other all to the accompaniment of the subsonic rumble of the giant presses in the basement that seemed to shake your soul.

Today, it seems my addiction has spread to us all at a speed that no one could have predicted.

The 21st century news junkie has never experienced the thrill of being on the inside of a major newspaper city room, and probably never will. In case you have not noticed, many newspapers have lost their way as they struggle to compete with electronic gizmos that will bring you instant videos of hurricanes, floods, fires, wars and cute, cuddly kittens.

Today's news junkies get their jolt of something by sticking their noses in smartphones, smart tablets, smartwatches. Even here in our little geographical corner, the magical peninsula my sainted mother-in-law calls “God’s Pocket,” you can spot folks stumbling as they walk across the harbor’s footbridge with their nose buried in an electronic device.

I understand their addiction. I feel their pain, the compelling sense of loss that comes with the fear that you might miss something important.

We news junkies fear losing our connection with the terrible, the awful, the scandal, the carnage, and political nonsense that seems to melt over our psyche as a warm buttercream icing slithers over a warm lemon cake.

But Pilgrims, this summer I have learned to cope, to throw off the bonds that bound me to the tyranny of addiction. It is not a pill, a jab, a jolt, a toke, or a drink. This summer, I have found respite from the news at home and abroad by rediscovering baseball.

Yes, baseball. That American game where the finest players fail most of the time.

Think of it for a moment. The great sluggers struggle to hit .300. Skilled pitchers, even the great Chris Sale, walk batters and serve up hanging curves that find their way into the upper deck. So why has a hundred-year-old kid's game played by grown-ups provided a cure for news junkies?

I think it is because a major ingredient of the game the world loves is something we all need. It is called hope.

No matter if we sit down on a creaky park bench, a posh suite in Fenway Park, or the old faithful couch in front of the big screen TV, baseball demands we embrace hope.

We hope our pitcher will have “good stuff” today. We hope the mighty slugger will shrug off strikeouts and connect with a slider. We hope the catcher will fire a strike to the second baseman to stop a sliding base runner. We hope the infield will exhibit the ballet-like skills needed to execute a double play.

We have hope for success, even though we know the great slugger will never hit 60-plus home runs or hit .400 like the icon Ted Williams.

In baseball, we know failure, but there is always another inning, a chance that if the bases are loaded, J.D. Martinez will send a fastball over Fenway Park’s Green Monster. In baseball, there is always hope that the home team will succeed.

That is why, in the winter of my life, I have embraced baseball.

For in that game, like life, there is always hope for success, a chance for redemption. Without hope, it is easy for us to get caught up in a slough of despondency  triggered by today’s news events.

Just watch your TV news and watch hurricanes slam into the Gulf Coast shredding homes and lives. Then switch the channel and watch terrified refugees flee the terrible winds of war, or sobbing mothers caught up in the mystifying pandemic. Or worse, instead of offering solutions, watch our snarling politicians on all sides blame the others for causing and failing to cure the ills of the world.

Despite the dreadful events depicted in the news, we need to embrace the hope that, no matter the situation, somehow it will eventually turn out right.

At least I hope so.

Be well. Be safe.