Between Pitches
| March 31, 2011 | Posted by Chin.Musik under Jon Konrath |
My parents forced me into a season of peewee league, one of those “we need to toughen him up” exercises in futility. I spent long hours standing in an outfield, battling hay fever, bored mindless. Other teams got cool names, like the Dodgers or Yankees. Mine? The pre-Nolan Ryan, Day-Glo-orange Astros. We went 1 and 7, and my glove went straight to a garage sale. America’s pastime, just like that rope in gym class, symbolized everything athletic I couldn’t do.
Photo by Jon Konrath.
Decades later, I’m in Milwaukee, nervously meeting future in-laws. Someone mentioned a Brewers game, and I wasn’t a fan, but I agreed to go. You know the drill, first impressions and all. Friday night began with bratwursts and bitch-fests about Attanasio not dropping the cash to re-sign Carlos Lee, then we left to see the Brew Crew.
The game tied at two in the second inning, a boring pitching match. But I loved the rituals, the chants and claps and cheers. A mustachioed Bernie Brewer danced atop a stories-tall slide. Four anthropomorphic sausages raced across the field. Walk-up music blared; Jumbotrons flashed. We sang “Roll Out the Barrel” during the 7th inning stretch. Did I mention all the mullets?
The dead space between plays bores people, but it’s what pulled me in. Basketball is like watching planes at top speed; blink twice and ten points go on the board. But with baseball, between every pitch, I calculated every possibility, every outcome. What if they pitch outside but the batter hits deep with that dude on second? What if the next guy bunts? What if the pitcher can get on with the leadoff man right behind him? Will they use a double-switch here? Team sports didn’t jive with a kid who loved to play alone. But this chessboard of pieces I could over-analyze made total sense.
I moved to Denver in 2007, a block from Coors Field. I’d skip work for day games, enjoy the sun and altitude with an old-man AM radio in my ear. Last place Colorado pulled a World Series into my back yard, and I woke early during my honeymoon in the Bahamas to spend $500 on Game 4 tickets. They lost to you-know-who and it broke my heart, but an obsession was born.
[...] going on over at chinmusik.net, just in time for the start of the baseball season. Go check out Between Pitches for some nostalgia about my first baseball game ever, and why I’m now obsessed with the [...]
I love this. I never cared about baseball until I met my ex, and he basically said I should learn the game – or be a baseball-widow 6 months of the year.
All it took was one live game (at old Yankee Stadium) and I was hooked. I love all the things you describe; the downtime when we can analyze the next play, the rituals, and the excitement in a crowd.
Three years after our marriage is over, and my love for baseball grows every year. It was absolutely his greatest gift to me.
(I was also rooting for the Rockies in 2007 – though, maybe for different reasons.)