Over the past month or so, I haven't posted as much or as often as I once did. And I feel bad about that.
True, I've had a lot going on. And when I skipped it was usually because I opted for a few more minutes of desperately needed sleep.
Still, I feel bad that the last third of My Summer of Baseball appears somehow less heartfelt than the first third.
And it's such a wrong impression. In fact, baseball has become such a fundamental part of life now that it just doesn't always occur to me to write about it. I'm living it.
I spent a lot of the summer enjoying baseball as part of the grand blogging experiment. I loved the games, but I was also always putting everything through the blog filter:
- What was I seeing that I could use?
- How could I link baseball to what I really wanted to talk about that day?
- What was the perfect word to describe X, Y or Z?
And that was very fun, both as a writer and as a fan. But by September, I had turned a corner. I couldn't wax philosophical about the losses or think of clever quips about the wins. I was too busy feeling it all, deep down in my gut.
The fact is, these days when I get to a game, there's no computer at home, there's no Internet waiting.
There's just the ball, and the bat, and the glove. The roar and sigh of the crowd. And so many hopes, kept alive for another joyful week.
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