I’m trying to like baseball. No, seriously (part 1)

Posted: April 9, 2010 in I'm trying to like baseball. No, Seriously
Tags: , , , , , ,

A little background
I have a few days under my belt watching baseball regularly and so far it’s been, well, less than inspiring. One of the first things I noticed was the cute little back ‘n’ forth the pitcher plays with the batter as well as the runner on on base… I was relaxing, taking in all that baseball had to offer but I showed up a little late. There was a man on first already and the pitcher appeared ready to throw to the next batter. I settled in, grabbed a beverage and kicked back. Right away, I heard the commentator mention their “running game” which stirred thoughts of football, thereby sparking my interest…sneaky little bastards. The pitcher leaned in, shook off a sign, agreed to a sign, postured up and waited for a few seconds then attempted to pick off the runner. Failed. The base runner called time, wiped off his jersey, fixed his jock, tied his shoe and showed the 1st base ump pictures of his kids before getting back on base and back into the game. Again the pitcher leaned in, shook off a sign, agreed to a sign, postured up, waited then turned quickly towards first but didn’t throw it. The runner slid back to the base and we had to start all over again.

This time the pitcher did his thing, putsed around, took his time, looked ready to throw and as he began his wind-up the batter called time and stepped out of the box! GOD DAMN IT! ARE YOU SERIOUS!? I shook it off, chalked it up as a rare occurrence and readied myself for the next pitch. Things were looking good, pitcher went through his little ritual, the batter jostled his jock strap around a little bit and went through his nuances and the pitch came down the pipe. Foul ball… FUCK! Pitcher ritual, jostled jock, pitch #2 – Foul ball. A tip of the cap, a tap of home plate with the bat and here came pitch #3 – Foul ball. Son of a BITCH! At this point I was applying pressure to the cyanide capsule stored in my rear molar. Another set of stupid rituals and pitch #4 was thrown. Deep fly ball to right! Was this it? Was this the moment I always hear about?! I stood up from the couch and let the potato chip crumbs fall to the floor. My hands were raised in anticipation; the hair on the back of my neck was standing up in excitement as the ball sliced right – foul ball… !$&%#!@$%!$!!! I would have chomped down on the suicide tab had I not expelled it from my mouth while screaming in absolute writhing anger.

As the stadium settled down and I returned my breathing back to normal, the commentator said, “Ya know – a triple play gets them out of this inning.”

Good night.

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Comments
  1. […] in the outfield? By my expert eye witness accounts, I noticed a lot of standing around. Like in my first post, while I was watching the batter foul off 12 in a row my attention was diverted to the outfielders. […]

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