About all I knew, walking into the park
was what Tom Hank’s character famously whined:
There’s no crying in Baseball!While this claim is conistent with my experiences
It is something of an understatement:
There are a lot of things there is none of
There is no excitement in baseball.
There is no activity.
There is nothing much that changes.
There isn’t much apparent strategy
beyond hit it hard (they told me that’s called goin’ for the homer)
or hitting soft (a bunt)
There is no end in baseball.
It goes on forever.
The good news is that I’m not afraid of Hell anymore.
The closest I can come
to explaining my nation’s pastime
is to suspect that it isn’t about the game at all:
there is this…
in shrieking with a crowd
while teetering on the edge of a drunken dehydration
resulting from the cruel sun’s collaborations
with dehydrating pretzels and beer.
I spend a few minutes thinking I’m original in wondering about cutting out the game entirely
then I realize college fraternities have been doing this at parties for years.
I will admit that I clapped in the second inning when our team scored a run.
But I was looking away when the visitors tied in the seventh.
Crashing my hopes
to leave in just a couple more innings…
I booed with the rest of them
But I probably had a different reason.