Sox
I'm going to start this blog off by talking about baseball. I know it is an odd thing for an Arts Blog to begin this way, but it has not been until recently that I started to appreciate the sport. Possibly because I am now living in Chicago and the White Sox are very close to taking the pennant, but more likely, being an American, baseball has always been in my blood.
The excitement of going to ball games at Camden Yards with my father was always there, but when it came time to sit and watch the sport in front of the T.V., well, I would have rather watched paint dry. Unlike baseball, with paint drying, the end was always in sight. I could see the wet spots dissipate and the entire wall turn the light blue I had chosen for my room. The smell always lingered, but I could resume banging my head against the wall yelling fire as my father directed me to whenever I claimed boredom while watching another batter knock dirt off his shoes with an aluminum bat for what seemed like twenty years.
Now, the Sox are seeking pennant glory and I find myself getting caught up in the action. Realizing that the pace of the game is the heart and that patience is its virtue.
It wasn't until recently, O.K., now 8 or 9 years ago, that I began to appreciate literature. Becoming an adult has never been sweeter. Talking with younger cousins who read Old Man in the Sea when they were in middle school seems like a cut to my ego, having first broken the pages in the past year, but their appreciation for the novella seems washed away with the tide and onslaught of N'SYNC and Brittney. The shape of Hemingway's story, the struggle of the Man's journey and the admiration of the Boy hover above me each and everyday I walk this earth.
The same earth the White Sox tread, a dream team formulated by common men, no stars, a team no one thought would rank anywhere on the board this year. They are one game out from the title of World Series Champs and I no longer find myself bored by the game. Even without FOX, I find myself listening to the game on the radio as if I were a Russian immigrant excited and enthralled by every word of the announcer, anticipating the next move in the game of life...baseball. 14 innings would have surely put others to sleep. They kept me up all night.
GO SOX!
- jaw
The excitement of going to ball games at Camden Yards with my father was always there, but when it came time to sit and watch the sport in front of the T.V., well, I would have rather watched paint dry. Unlike baseball, with paint drying, the end was always in sight. I could see the wet spots dissipate and the entire wall turn the light blue I had chosen for my room. The smell always lingered, but I could resume banging my head against the wall yelling fire as my father directed me to whenever I claimed boredom while watching another batter knock dirt off his shoes with an aluminum bat for what seemed like twenty years.
Now, the Sox are seeking pennant glory and I find myself getting caught up in the action. Realizing that the pace of the game is the heart and that patience is its virtue.
It wasn't until recently, O.K., now 8 or 9 years ago, that I began to appreciate literature. Becoming an adult has never been sweeter. Talking with younger cousins who read Old Man in the Sea when they were in middle school seems like a cut to my ego, having first broken the pages in the past year, but their appreciation for the novella seems washed away with the tide and onslaught of N'SYNC and Brittney. The shape of Hemingway's story, the struggle of the Man's journey and the admiration of the Boy hover above me each and everyday I walk this earth.
The same earth the White Sox tread, a dream team formulated by common men, no stars, a team no one thought would rank anywhere on the board this year. They are one game out from the title of World Series Champs and I no longer find myself bored by the game. Even without FOX, I find myself listening to the game on the radio as if I were a Russian immigrant excited and enthralled by every word of the announcer, anticipating the next move in the game of life...baseball. 14 innings would have surely put others to sleep. They kept me up all night.
GO SOX!
- jaw
posted by Joshua Aaron Weinstein at 3:04 PM
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