Seriously, does anyone at all care about baseball in April? The season stretches into infinity, running until approximately Halloween or Thanksgiving or Advent or that mysterious date that most of us intuitively know when the neighbor's Christmas decorations have been out just a little too long.
I need something to fill the sports-shaped void in my life and baseball isn't it. Even the "summer" Olympics aren't really all that summer-ish. August is football season, meaning I've got more important things to do than watch twiggy twelve-year-old girls fling their mal-nourished bodies across large bouncy mats. You know why those girls cry after every routine? Because they're hungry!! Someone get that girl a cheeseburger for crying out loud!!
Breakfast at Wimbledon, anyone? I've got my lovely wife (who will spend many hours staying up past her bed time watching the aforementioned twiggy twelve-year-old girls fling their mal-nourished bodies across large bouncy mats) to thank for introducing me to the joys of tennis.
And since I owe her for that, maybe I can endure a little summer Olympics gymnastics along with her.
2 comments:
Baseball is a metaphor for life--the season is grueling, but finite. Each year begins with great hope for a team's success, but ultimately becomes mired down in the realities of injuries, infighting, poor officiating and bad breaks. At the end of the season all of the teams are left with the empty realization that their season was meaningless in the long run, even the team that wins the World Series, because in three years almost nobody will remember them or what they did.
Baseball is evidence of the world's need for grace. I commend its further perusal to you, Alex Kirk.
Go Cubs!
hahahaha.
you make me laugh, AK.
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