Take Me Out to the Ball Game
“Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd.
Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack,
I don’t care if I never get back,
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don’t win it’s a shame.
For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out,
At the old ball game.”
It has been years since I’ve been this close to baseball this late through autumn and into winter. A long time. Too long, maybe.
The fever didn’t die this year when the World Series trophy was safely tucked into its new home in Boston. Perhaps it is the warm weather, perhaps it is something calling and pulling me in the direction of baseball.
Something pulling at me which has always been there. Every year, every fall, beckoning me like it did when I was a kid. Calling for me to come back every year, but left alone with its voice echoing off the barren canyon as I pursued other endeavors. Maybe.
Maybe I’ll get the bat out of the closet and take some swings in the garage. Oil down the glove with some shaving cream, or work on the power curveball by throwing the ball into the sofa. Baseball.
Keep rolling along football, I’ll still be your fan. Hurry on your way basketball, make way for pitchers and catcher.
I think that is Spring I hear in the air. Then again, it could be Kiel Unruh’s first (and only) home run shot finally returning to Mother Earth.