That just makes it different. Is it 7 months long? Yeah. But that doesn't necessarily matter.
The smell of the ballpark, the sun on your face, the intensity of a moment as it builds.
Your team down 3 heading into the ninth, a leadoff double, a fly ball out, a walk, a single.
Men on second and third.
A strike out. An intentional walk to load the bases. A pitching change because the righty at the plate can't hit sliders away and the opposing manager is playing the percentages.
Strike one, high and tight.
A ball high.
Another ball.
Two pitches low and away, fouled off.
3-2 two out and the runners go.
The batter lays into one and the home crowd comes to their feet. Everything stops for 5 seconds. It's got a chance. You don't think about your bitching wife, your debt, the way your father treated you. Even the beer guy turns around and watches the ball flying towards the left field pole. The crowd gasps as the ball flies right past the foul pole. Everyone turns to the ump and looks for the call. He raises his arm and swings his finger around with excitement.
That's it. It's bedlam. Everyone is screaming. At the game, in the bar, at their TV, doesn't matter.
For one moment, at one particular time, there are no races, or religions, there are no worries, or troubles. There are just a bunch of people cheering for guy in a suit who swung his arms and hit a ball when it mattered.
So who's ready for some baseball?
The smell of the ballpark, the sun on your face, the intensity of a moment as it builds.
Your team down 3 heading into the ninth, a leadoff double, a fly ball out, a walk, a single.
Men on second and third.
A strike out. An intentional walk to load the bases. A pitching change because the righty at the plate can't hit sliders away and the opposing manager is playing the percentages.
Strike one, high and tight.
A ball high.
Another ball.
Two pitches low and away, fouled off.
3-2 two out and the runners go.
The batter lays into one and the home crowd comes to their feet. Everything stops for 5 seconds. It's got a chance. You don't think about your bitching wife, your debt, the way your father treated you. Even the beer guy turns around and watches the ball flying towards the left field pole. The crowd gasps as the ball flies right past the foul pole. Everyone turns to the ump and looks for the call. He raises his arm and swings his finger around with excitement.
That's it. It's bedlam. Everyone is screaming. At the game, in the bar, at their TV, doesn't matter.
For one moment, at one particular time, there are no races, or religions, there are no worries, or troubles. There are just a bunch of people cheering for guy in a suit who swung his arms and hit a ball when it mattered.
So who's ready for some baseball?
but fuking beers cost 8 bucks fuk that
