themostfunthing: It’s American, of course, with its odd balance of isolation and teamwork, a distinct division of labor. Stand roughly here in the grass or dirt and be ready because nobody can predict, man, when the ball might come your way. Chew whatever you like. Spit. When it comes, pursue the ball then throw it to the right place. Know beforehand to whom. Which is to say, plan ahead. Step to the plate, take your cuts, focus. Reach base and don’t stray too far, observe and think then hustle hard. Hustle harder. Score the run, celebrate, and take the field to protect that for which you’ve worked. Offense and defense, everyone hits, runs, catches, throws — the designated hitter is a tax break for the wealthy. Call it physical poetry amidst an ongoing war between numbers and intangibles, the novelistic pace of a 162-game season dense with intertwined narratives, rookies and veterans, middle-relief specialists and franchise superstars, all laboring beneath the strategic aegis of the old, grizzled manager who, god bless him, is wearing the same uniform. Playing ball.

themostfunthing:

It’s American, of course, with its odd balance of isolation and teamwork, a distinct division of labor. Stand roughly here in the grass or dirt and be ready because nobody can predict, man, when the ball might come your way. Chew whatever you like. Spit. When it comes, pursue the ball then throw it to the right place. Know beforehand to whom. Which is to say, plan ahead.

Step to the plate, take your cuts, focus. Reach base and don’t stray too far, observe and think then hustle hard. Hustle harder. Score the run, celebrate, and take the field to protect that for which you’ve worked. Offense and defense, everyone hits, runs, catches, throws — the designated hitter is a tax break for the wealthy.

Call it physical poetry amidst an ongoing war between numbers and intangibles, the novelistic pace of a 162-game season dense with intertwined narratives, rookies and veterans, middle-relief specialists and franchise superstars, all laboring beneath the strategic aegis of the old, grizzled manager who, god bless him, is wearing the same uniform. Playing ball.