for every season there’s a game that makes sense. football on a crisp, fall day. the weather lends itself to running and smashing into the other guy while drums and horns carry across the air. baseball captures the lazy days of summer. stillness, followed by a quick gust of wind. games seem to go on for too long, before you know it, you’re committed just to see what happens. plenty of time to think and stare and let your mind wander.
baseball is the kind of game you can listen to on the radio, translate through your mind’s eye. nice way to spend some time.
i bleed phillies red these days, but i grew up bleeding blue. dodger blue. dad was a fan (though he was a much bigger fan of college football). it was a treat to go to a game. we only sat in cheap seats, far outfield bleachers or sky high in the fifth deck. somehow we always landed in the bleachers on hot sunny days and fifth deck for night games where it was chilly from the breeze.
dad only sprang for peanuts in the shell and a scorecard. no drinks. that’s what dinking fountains were for. i don’t remember getting a dodger dog, not sure they even had them way back when.
scorecards were critical, filling up all the boxes correctly was a must. there was always an echo of transistor radios tuned to vin scully calling the game and a sea of orange union 76 balls on the radio antennas in the parking lot.
it’s opening day. in spite of the snow this morning (!), it’s opening day and carefree summer days won’t be far behind.