Baseball, to me, is a mythical sport of strategy. Patience begets patience, to the point of ennui; It’s intermittently fast paced, and when the pace is that fast, it’s violently so.
The sun, beaming’, federation scheming’
But you was clocking’ DiBiase,
musta been day-dreamin’
Speaking of violence, the silence on the field, when weather makes play unplayable, is deafening. That same weather plays a major part in whether many officials make or may not make themselves ‘blue’; for it is at the whim of Mother Nature, and it’s bound by time, all while armored by $500 dollars of protective gear – before step foot on the diamond.
Scenery sunny, act one, near a money machine.
But, umpires will tell you, we love this game. This is America’s past time, and it works wonders for the impatient official.
Perfect combination
Ain’t no other relationship Like this
I know we’re gonna last forever.
An umpire is left to their own devices, as there is no whistle around an umpire’s neck; instead, they use their mechanics, they use their voice box and become – the whistle. Unlike Basketball, or Lacrosse in which improvisation is the norm, baseball checks an entirely different box – it starts off like nothing, and turns into something – for that’s everything in baseball.
“Go slow, go fast, like controlla.” – Drake
I love this game. It makes me love the other sports I do, because it allows me a brief respite from them, making me long for them long enough that I’ll miss it. It provides my mind the insatiable quest to think, and think, and calm my un-turn-off-able mind.
Here’s a cinematic view of what we do. Featuring Steve Cruz, and introducing Benny Commas behind the lens.
