I love baseball. And for all of you coming up with reasons for why you don’t love baseball, know that I will ignore them.
It’s that time of year when all the big league teams are undefeated and hoping or believing they’ll win the World Series this season. Spring training is in full swing and the stories of older players hoping for one last season (“I’m in the best shape of my life”) and rookies hoping for that first season (“I think I can, I think I can”) abound.
I love baseball.The games are not restricted to a shot clock, halftime report, or endless time outs. The game begins with the first pitch and ends with the last pitch and that can be any length of time. So what? What’s the hurry? Take time for a conversation with the guy in the seat next to you, go up to the concession stand for a brat and beer, watch the entire field instead of being limited to what the camera allows. Keep score. Take. Your. Time.
Catch a few rays. Consider strategy. Guess how many ways a runner can score from third base (I came up with 11 just off the top of my head), keep score.
I love baseball. It smells good. Leather gloves, baseballs, freshly-cut grass, the scent of pine tar on bats, resin on the ball.
I love baseball. It sounds good. The crack of bat on ball (send all aluminum bats to hell), a fastball popping into the catcher’s kit, runners running, umpires calling a player out.
I love baseball. It looks good. The manicured field, the green grass and brown of the skinned infield, the open sky, the ads on the outfield walls, the Green Monster in Fenway, the ivy in Wrigley Field.
Go to a game. Turn off your cell phone. Better yet, leave the stupid thing at home. Watch, listen, smell. Relax. You’ll be glad.
I love baseball.