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.
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.