A thought about baseball: Long time subscribers will remember that around the All-Star break or shortly thereafter, I fall into a deep depression over the pending end of summer. I can hear you now…”But, summer has just begun” or the more frequent “You don’t even like the beach!” (I can see Angelina just shaking her head).
This last ‘beach’ comment is especially false. I feel no need to lay out in the sun or endure the crowds, but I still like a nice sunset and a barbecue surrounded by a nice bug-free screened-in porch. Love summer. Love it. And along with summer, comes the baseball.
A favorite spot to see some baseball is in the screened in breezeway between the house and the garage at my in-law’s, where one might see a grand-slam on the portable TV while deer traipse through the back-yard. There is usually some cottage cheese with grapes, and a ceiling fan ensures the breeze. It is here that I first started paying some attention to the game.
I enjoy taking stock of my two favorite baseball teams. Hell, I got my first period at Yankee Stadium, where I attended a game as the only girl on an Audio Visual Aide Society field trip. A stranger helped me pull myself together in the cavernous ladies room, it was like the film “Carrie” meets the cast of “Saved By The Bell;” how could I not love baseball?
It’s hard to grow up in NJ and not root for the Yankees, although it was the Cleveland Indians that first piqued my interest in the sport. To have Nick Swisher, goofy, silly, Swishy whose enthusiasm makes one question the drug testing practices of the major leagues, up against Jeter, whose Re2pect commercial actually brought a salty tear to my eye, what more could a gal want?.
Despite her allegiance to the Baltimore Orioles, you might want to check out one of my favorite bloggers, The Baseball Bloggess. Formerly “Baseball, Yoga, Life…(and me),” this writer celebrated her two year old blog with a with a brand new domain and content that is always interesting and fact-packed, providing good fodder for dinnertime conversations.
In addition to baseball, great live music also chases the summertime blues away. Having read about some of my experiences here and here, you might even wonder why I still go, but go I must. “If it’s too loud, you’re too old” proclaims my tye-dyed souvenir from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I like to wear it as I hobble towards the stage with my walker, my radiation- trophy bald-spot playing gender-bending tricks with the audience.