Yesterday, after rushing away from the Church Picnic (sob), it occurred to me that baseball is alright. It is orderly and cheerful. The angles are well arranged. The lawn is always perfectly green. The little boys (honestly, they look so like babies but also on the cusp of being men) look so right in their bright clean white and wine colored uniforms. The catcher for our team, who I do happen to know, squats keen eyed and ready, but when the moment arises flings aside his massive helmet and cap, scoops up the ball and goes fiercely at the poor child coming desperately towards home. Then, generally satisfied, he reassembles himself with the help of the umpire. It all happens in a languid, fascinating, nail biting rhythm.
And so, here we are, one single game away from it all being over. We have gone all the way. Had it not been for the rain today, we, I guess I should say 'they' since I am not technically playing, would have played the only other team that has gone all the way. Tomorrow? Or Wednesday? Who can know when the rain will stop and the teams will be assembled.