Talking Baseball, Yastrzemski, Petrocelli …

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            I love baseball. Tomorrow the local college is playing at home. I think I shall go.

Right now the Los Angeles Angels, who also just happen to be of Anaheim, are playing the Seattle Mariners of Cano. This is from the MLB Network in the living room, but the actual game is apparently being played somewhere in Arizona where there is Cactus. I prefer the Grapefruit League, mostly because the Boston Red Sox are there.

As a means of preparing baseball teams, I’m not sure which is better, cactus or grapefruit, humidity or aridity, prickly plants or fruits. The Red Sox won the World Series last year, so I guess humidity currently has the edge, though I haven’t seen the empirical data.

Right now, it’s all passive. I’m just typing away, the game meandering at the edge of my consciousness. When the announces start yelling, I look up, and then I catch the replay.

It’s the way I always watch basketball, but with baseball, it will change when the games are for real. My whole day will revolve around getting everything done so I can watch the Red Sox attentively. And then, maybe, the San Francisco Giants when the Red Sox game is over.

Earlier today I was uptown, killing some time between appointments at one of those hangouts all small towns have where people drop in to shoot the bull. It’s one of the few places I go where most of the people are older. One fellow, semi-retired, who works there “a little on the side,” walked behind a partition and returned with a photo of him as a kid, standing behind the railing of a minor-league park, with Ted Williams and Pinky Higgins sitting on a bench in front of him. The picture would have been taken in the late 1950s or 1960, Williams’ last year. Higgins was manager of the Red Sox, 1955-59, and ’60-62.

Another fellow said that people didn’t follow sports the way they used to. They watch it, he said, but they don’t pay attention. I reeled off the starting lineup of Boston’s 1967 team, which opened its season on the day I turned nine. I told the man I probably watched a 100 games on TV, yet still remembered as much about 1967 as 2013. I don’t think it’s because my faculties have declined, though they may have. I think it’s because I used to pore over box scores. Thanks to satellite TV, I’m spoonfed now.

Or that’s what we concluded at L&L Office Supply.


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