It is Opening Day and a show of hands, please, from all those sitting at their desks, and deluding themselves into thinking they are working while A BALL GAME IS ON.
Let me be the first to confess.
Endless tasks await me. And yet, in the corner of my screen sits a box that carries, pitch-by-pitch, the cold and rainy doings from Cincinnati, where my team, the maddening Mets, have thus far left five men on base in four innings. I shared the news with a friend, who, busy as he always is, needed no update from me. David Wright failing to drive in Jose Reyes from third with one out. C'mon David.
Which begs the question: why do we do this foolish thing? Surely, it is not because the relentlessness of fandom makes us happy. It often makes us unhappy, sometimes extremely so. And that, I have come to believe, is the point. Sports is mankind's greatest approximation of life. Or rather, to life that matters. If this feels like too much of a stretch, consider the wise writings of the Dutch philosopher, Johan Huizinga, who made this very point in his seminal book, Homo Ludens, or Man At Play. Life, he argued, is a messy and dangerous thing, no more so than when people, and nation states, lose their tempers and decide to fight. Games, he goes on, have long been an acceptable -- and often wildly popular -- alternative to fighting. Consider how often we are subjected to characterizations of athletes as "warriors." They are not warriors. They are athletes. They play games that resemble war only in the qualities and sense of urgency we attach to the outcome. Games offer all the illusion of life, without genuine pain. Yes, there is hurt and disappointment and frustration. But if it matters too much then, sorry, that is not a good thing. The beauty of games is less the thrill of athletic accomplishment, or of victory. It is their capacity to instill worry. And fear. And anxiety. When nothing really bad can happen. Games are an antidote to all that undermines our inner peace -- to worry, endless worry. But look, Daniel Murphy has just gone long. One-to-nothing New York. Two on. Two out. The season stretches out before me. Hold the Zantac. I've got my team.
But if the outcomes really mattered, the games would no longer be, well, games. They would be life. And we are too much filled with that.
Things worry me. The Mets, bless 'em, worry me, too.
But the Metropolitans didn't look too good with runners in scoring position. Let's hope we're not back to where the season ended, with the middle of the lineup doing nothing. (Yeah, I know, it's only the first game, but.....) At least Johan was on his game. (Go Santana!)
How many pitchers does it take before you have to go?
A football player, and soccer player and a baseball player walk into a bar; the basketball player steps over it.
Do baseball players have steroid hemorrhoids, or only one?
Why do baseball players have the ugliest uniforms? So they can sit in spit while they scratch.
Why do they call it the bull pen? Obviously you haven't smelled a pitcher.
What do you call a sexy baseball player? A mythical creature
What is a moon wave? When the fans stand, turn around, drop their pants, and bend over in honor of America's Passed Time.