No afternoon baseball today. I pay to get all the games on TV, mainly because I love the Boston Red Sox and live in South Carolina, but I often use other teams’ games as a soothing background for writing, reading, playing guitar and sketching.
I look up when I hear yelling, and then I watch the replay, and then I go back to what I was doing.
Perhaps my writing is measurably better when Vin Scully is on TV. He is the poet laureate of sportscasting. In fact, he is the only poet in sportscasting.
Sometimes other sports serve the purpose. I was writing amid the perpetual hum of World Cup crowds and the breathless description of foreign voices last week. I notice the difference in meanings. At the end of a soccer match, the announcer yells, “And Argentina is through!” In his lingo, that means Argentina is through to the next round. In my lingo, he’s talking about the Red Sox. Yes, I have little faith. I think it’s damned commendable that I have a little. I’m likely to be watching them play the White Sox tonight.
Failure means escaping the concentration of writing to realize that The Weather Channel has been prattling on for hours. Most of the time, it’s easy to work to weather, but I’m better than that. I like documentaries. I like old movies, particularly bad ones, because I’ll be tempted to really watch good ones.
And I need to write. Even stuff like this.