Dear reader(s),
I apologize for my long absence. Things have been a little too insane for words, but that has nothing to do with the Chickball blog. Below, for your reading pleasure...
There is nothing like an evening at Fenway. I grew up with the Astrodome, I've spent many games at Minute Maid Park, and I've been to games at other stadiums, including the famed Yankee Stadium. But there's nothing like an evening at Fenway. It's not even necessarily for the baseball - it's the atmosphere, the environment, the sense of place. It's the ultimate summertime experience. Win or lose (even 15-2, like one of the games I went to this summer), going to a game at Fenway is an experience that can't be beat.
But.
But if there's a way to overdose on baseball, I managed to do it this summer. I spent essentially every single night of May through July watching the Sox games, and somehow in the midst of those three months, the fun just wasn't there anymore. Granted, in July, I was living in an apartment that consisted of a camping chair, a tv, and a tupperware bin, so there wasn't much else to do, but still. I love baseball. I nearly lose my friends and nearly fail my midterms every year in October. But this year, by mid-August, I just couldn't get myself to turn on the television anymore. It had lost its fun, its pleasure, its innocent naivite, its ability to divert my thoughts from everything else.
But.
But I spent time at some of baseball's best moments this summer, too. Those were the moments in which the innocence had yet to be taken away from the pureness and the boyishness that baseball is always meant to be. At the Cape League game, there were a bunch of age 20ish guys trying to prove that someday, they might be able to play this game that they've been playing all their childhood as more than just a game. But for these guys, the game is still a game. It's a summer "job," as they play every day and of course its not easy and there's tons of pressure, but it's still a game, and if they don't cut it or decide it's not for them, they still have another year or two of college to finish up and get out there into the real world in whatever they might find more suitable.
At the Triple A game in Pawtucket, of course there were the typical 20ish-es that were trying to prove themselves, but what you really noticed were the guys in their mid-30s who were still playing the game. In triple A. There's no way these guys are ever going to make it to the bigs for more than maybe a couple games here and there in place of an injured players, but there they are, still busting their butts every day to play triple A ball for the measley minor league pay. Now I know there are at least some of them who have other jobs for the regular year, but still. These men come back, every summer, to play a game that deep down, is a game meant for boys. These men never lost that boyishness, and somehow, that's just so refreshing in today's world of corporate ladders and racing to get ahead.
Watching the Little League World Series, you got to see the kids play and love and be the kids they are meant to be, but on a bigger and better stage than most of those kids would have ever expected to play. They were really cute. And mostly innocent.
But.
But baseball is still my favorite sport, because of the previous three stories. Even in the majors, where the steroids and the money and the craziness flow like honey (except maybe more negative honey than sweet honey), in the end all of these guys are playing this game because they never lost that boyhood innocence and charm, and they're just giving us our childhood dreams and memories back for us to remember and enjoy.
I apologize for my long absence. Things have been a little too insane for words, but that has nothing to do with the Chickball blog. Below, for your reading pleasure...
There is nothing like an evening at Fenway. I grew up with the Astrodome, I've spent many games at Minute Maid Park, and I've been to games at other stadiums, including the famed Yankee Stadium. But there's nothing like an evening at Fenway. It's not even necessarily for the baseball - it's the atmosphere, the environment, the sense of place. It's the ultimate summertime experience. Win or lose (even 15-2, like one of the games I went to this summer), going to a game at Fenway is an experience that can't be beat.
But.
But if there's a way to overdose on baseball, I managed to do it this summer. I spent essentially every single night of May through July watching the Sox games, and somehow in the midst of those three months, the fun just wasn't there anymore. Granted, in July, I was living in an apartment that consisted of a camping chair, a tv, and a tupperware bin, so there wasn't much else to do, but still. I love baseball. I nearly lose my friends and nearly fail my midterms every year in October. But this year, by mid-August, I just couldn't get myself to turn on the television anymore. It had lost its fun, its pleasure, its innocent naivite, its ability to divert my thoughts from everything else.
But.
But I spent time at some of baseball's best moments this summer, too. Those were the moments in which the innocence had yet to be taken away from the pureness and the boyishness that baseball is always meant to be. At the Cape League game, there were a bunch of age 20ish guys trying to prove that someday, they might be able to play this game that they've been playing all their childhood as more than just a game. But for these guys, the game is still a game. It's a summer "job," as they play every day and of course its not easy and there's tons of pressure, but it's still a game, and if they don't cut it or decide it's not for them, they still have another year or two of college to finish up and get out there into the real world in whatever they might find more suitable.
At the Triple A game in Pawtucket, of course there were the typical 20ish-es that were trying to prove themselves, but what you really noticed were the guys in their mid-30s who were still playing the game. In triple A. There's no way these guys are ever going to make it to the bigs for more than maybe a couple games here and there in place of an injured players, but there they are, still busting their butts every day to play triple A ball for the measley minor league pay. Now I know there are at least some of them who have other jobs for the regular year, but still. These men come back, every summer, to play a game that deep down, is a game meant for boys. These men never lost that boyishness, and somehow, that's just so refreshing in today's world of corporate ladders and racing to get ahead.
Watching the Little League World Series, you got to see the kids play and love and be the kids they are meant to be, but on a bigger and better stage than most of those kids would have ever expected to play. They were really cute. And mostly innocent.
But.
But baseball is still my favorite sport, because of the previous three stories. Even in the majors, where the steroids and the money and the craziness flow like honey (except maybe more negative honey than sweet honey), in the end all of these guys are playing this game because they never lost that boyhood innocence and charm, and they're just giving us our childhood dreams and memories back for us to remember and enjoy.
posted by Amy at 7:20 PM
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