Monday, April 02, 2007

Witz Pickz: Baseball

I don't know how it happened, but the rainy, cold, and bafflingly snowy (if you're on the west coast), or bafflingly un-snowy (if you're on the east), or...who the hell knows what the weather's like in the mid-west (unless you're from the midwest), suddenly turned into-- well it's still cold here, but the point is, it's April 2nd. I feel like it's a postmodern April Fool's joke where for April 1st, they lie and tell you it's April 2nd and then somehow it's actually still February. But the winter is actually somehow over, and when I went home for lunch this morning, I watched my Boston Red Sox get their asses kicked by the Kansas City Royals-- with a smile on my face (well, and also I was really really pissed and yelled at my television)-- but that's why I love baseball. Very few things can both relax me and cause me severe stress and pain. One of these things is Taco Bell cuisine, another is baseball. The seemingly ubiquitous spring, summer, and fall weather, shining through the television or radio to your lazy ears and eyes. The sound of announcers speaking knowledgeably about their teams. Falling asleep to the crackle of static and the cracks of bats or the smacks of the ball hitting the mitt. Nothing embodies the coming warmth of spring or the sought after laziness of summer like baseball, be it in the forefront or in the background. Its existence is enough. I'm glad baseball is back-- any longer a wait and I would have had to ponder the timeless question of "but where will I bury the bodies?" Instead I can relax.

Baseball Cards:
Nothing is nicer than knowing that all the money my parents and I spent on my baseball card collection back in the day will come back to me gloriously as a wad of cash 1/3 the value of my collection at a local pawn shop. I might not get as much money as I spent, but I'm getting it now, when my brain functions and I am able to accrue debt.

Is there a greater lazy man's sport? I think not. Wiffleball was invented by a bunch of drunken fat guys. When one man hit the ball between the 1st and 2nd baseman and began to run, his friends said, "Wait just a minute, my friend. Stay right there. No need to run. We'll just call that...a single." The batter replied, "But what of my hit that rolled to the bushes?" to which the wise, large, clearly drunken men with hot dogs and nacho breath replied, "We deem it a triple-- yes, a triple sounds fair." And so it was.

Take Me Out To the Ballgame...Please?....I Can't Afford to Go.....



Sarasaur said...

Wahoo, baseball! Dear God, I hope that means it will stop snowing soon. I want to sit in the sun with a nice hotdog and beer and watch a game, and I'd like to do it sans parka.

IrishGal said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
IrishGal said...

You know it's Opening Day in Seattle when your friend asks you on the way to Safeco, "Hey, did you bring a blanket?"

Closely followed by, "Those garlic fries aren't organic. I'd better watch what I eat and get an Ichi-Roll instead."