It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.
Friday, September 10, 2010
People who don't live in Southern California think of this place as the land of endless summer. But we have seasons. They're just not as pronounced as seasons elsewhere. The onset of fall always makes me anxious and a little bit melancholy. I think it's a holdover from school days. I was talking to my sister about this today. One of the things about the end of summer that's particularly difficult for me is that it means baseball season will be over soon, especially this year as my teams will not be in the playoffs. This is the first year since 2003 that neither the Mets or Angels will be in the post-season. Baseball, sad to say, is one of the few things that give me pleasure and give my life meaning. The daily rhythm of the game soothes my otherwise worried mind. I often reflect on the way Bob Murphy's voice affected me when I was a little boy. He was the radio play-by-play guy for the Mets. I used to have a transistor radio that I would put under my pillow and listen to Met games after my bedtime. I was always anxious about one thing or another when I was growing up, but the sound of Bob Murphy's voice never failed to calm me down and make me happy. Mention Bob Murphy to any longtime Met fan and a smile will come to their face. That's what baseball does for me more generally. When the season starts I always tell myself that for the next six months I'll have something to do, even when I don't have anything to do. My conversation with my sister today got me thinking about something A. Bartlett Giamatti once observed about baseball. I'll let his words speak for themselves:
at 8:53 PM