The Baseball Desert

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Stir crazy

Work and holidays have meant that there has been a lot more desert than baseball on here of late. When there have been posts, they have mainly been of the drive-by, "No, I'm not dead" variety.

In my defence, there's not been a lot of baseball to talk about recently. And therein lies my fundamental problem: no baseball. The chaotic end of year prevented me from seeing the baseball-shaped hole that had appeared in my life, but as the New Year has rolled around, the hole has started to get bigger. We recently subscribed to cable, so I've been trying to fill the void with a bit of football (with a little help and guidance from Beth), but I'm not involved enough for it to satisfy me like baseball does. There is also the little matter of not always understanding what's going on, which is a bit of a hindrance in all walks of life, except perhaps politics.

Reading about baseball (the usual suspects - Angell, Boswell, King /O'Nan, Schwartz) is something I always fall back on at this time of year, but after a while it tends to increase the desire to see some real baseball rather than assuage it, and I end up feeling more frustrated than ever.

I wasn't aware of just how thin the ice of sanity on which I'm skating is until earlier this week, when I caught a glimpse of the baseball sequence in Chicken Little. The inside-the-park home run by the film's hero - the only player in baseball history smaller than David Eckstein - had me yelling at the top of my voice like it was Pokey Reese circa 2004 and my daughters looking at me like: "Dad - it's a cartoon chicken. Chill out!"

Being banned from watching the Disney Channel because I'm in danger of waking the neighbours is something I can deal with, but I need a shot of baseball pretty soon, if I'm to avoid turning into a gibbering wreck who sits there like a cross between Leo Mazzone and Rain Man, muttering "Spring Training's coming" 24 hours a day.