Lost Fans

When baseball teams go through interminably long periods of losing, fans tend to soothe their distressed psyches by ascribing the poor play or lack of luck to paranormal curses. I'm trying to remember when it was fun to watch. So why do we keep watching? I myself keep remembering all the times we practiced together and taught him to play the game. And trying to make him to understand that the game is just another part of life that he must try his best win or lose.

In a 1985 essay, Donald Hall describes the sport’s most primal form: "Baseball is fathers and sons playing catch, the long arc of the years between." Hall reminds us that as much as baseball and poetry are concerned with an unbroken tradition, they also share a devotion to commemorating specific, crystalline moments. Baseball is a game of punctuated stillness, of dramatic seconds surrounded by casual hours.

I think understanding this poem maybe you can see that baseball is a life within itself.

Against the bright
grass the white-knickered
players tense, seize,
and attend. A moment
ago, outfielders
and infielders adjusted
their clothing, glanced
at the sun and settled
forward, hands on knees;
the pitcher walked back
of the hill, established
his cap and returned;
the catcher twitched
a forefinger; the batter
rotated his bat
in a slow circle. But now
they pause: wary,
exact, suspended—

So you want to know what happens?

Come to the Games. Be A Fan.