Readers Blog: Slightly Crazy Mom

Dear Baseball,

Dear Baseball,

I have a crush on you.

It wasn't always this way. In fact, a couple of years ago I mocked my team leader because he would talk about you non-stop. At that time I thought your only endearing quality was the uncanny ability to slow down time.

All that has changed this year. I have been spending a lot of time with you as I listen night after night while cleaning up a day's worth of dishes. You are always there for me (not like football) and I admire your patience and stamina.

I have a "sprint" mentality, get discouraged at set backs and give up too soon.

I am learning from you that a steadier, even pace can take you further. You don't seem to get too down by consecutive losses. Instead you keep plugging away, night after night, eventually building a winning streak.

Baseball, maybe there is something more to you than tailgating and sausage races. I look forward to getting to know you even better this season!

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Talkbacks

Annie from Bull Durham | June 25, 2009 at 2:27 p.m. (report)

I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball.

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SlightlyCrazyMom | June 25, 2009 at 2:21 p.m. (report)

Dear Baseball,
I read through my note another time and realize you may have gotten the wrong idea. Maybe I am spending too much time in the kitchen.
SlightlyCrazyMom

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sandstorm | June 25, 2009 at 1:57 p.m. (report)

Dear SlightlyCrazyMom,
Thank you for accepting me as I am.
For loving my balls as well as my strikes.
My long innings and my pop-outs.
For loving 3rd base as much as you love 1st base.
Let's get together again soon.

Baseball

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