“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” -F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby We have arrived at that point in the Baseball season in Minnesota…
Re-published to commemorate the anniversary of Chris Cornell’s death
Prince’s legacy is not being handled very well at all by his heirs.
HOW YOU GONNA DO SOME KIND OF MUSIC RELATED THING ON THE INTERNET WITHOUT THINKING OF YA BOY?
LIKE, MY DUDES, HOW YOU GONNA GET INTO SOMETHING ABOUT MUSIC AND NOSTALIGIA AND EMOTIONAL CONNECTIONS WITHOUT THINKING, OH, HEY MAYBE KEVIN WANTS TO GET IN ON THIS?
“So? What’s his batting average on Tuesdays with a full moon and a runner on second?”
Abandon hope, all ye who exit April with less than 10 wins
Losing his patience with me already, he told me it was his gloved finger. “Man, you should at least buy me a drink first,” I managed to tell him
For those of us who are generally depressed and/or have Seasonal Affective Disorder (hello to both) it’s no surprise that an occasional day of decent weather can do wonders for the heart and soul. It’s also no surprise that my soul has felt like a little dried up raisin since December.
Over the years, I have endured a fair amount of grief over my need to mark the flagpole upon departure. My friends find increasingly clever and creative ways to make fun of me for it. That’s just fine by me. Roger Clemens used to go and touch the Babe Ruth plaque in Monument Park before every home game he pitched for the Yankees. My flagpole thing isn’t all that weird.
There is a reason why “Home” is important to the game of baseball. It signifies the completion of a journey around the diamond’s four corners. It is the return to where you started. It’s recorded and will ultimately decide the outcome of the contest.