Oh Baseball, my Baseball
Oh baseball, my baseball. Your season is ending soon. It's the last day of September, which means it's almost time for the playoffs. I love autumn, and October is my favorite month, but how bittersweet that it ushers in the end of baseball season.
I discovered that the best song to listen to while watching Royals baseball clips from this past summer is Roger Whitaker's "I don't believe in if anymore." It helps me deal.
For, my dear Royals....they played so well right up until September.... But this has not been a good month for them. Wobbly pitching, sloppy base-running, milquetoast bats. They made the playoffs because their early wins put them so far ahead of the pack, but lately they've been on a losing streak, and they won't last long in the playoffs if it continues.
"Baseball was designed to break your heart." Someone said it.
I took a highlight reel and slapped my new song onto it, and made the video below.
Oh glorious baseball season, lasting from April to October. Oh glorious baseball summer. What a glut of riches I have enjoyed lo' these many months, following the Royals. A new game every night! Every few days, a new team, a new city representin'.
My 16-year old daughter groans when I turn on the radio.
"They're playing again? Do they play every night?"
"Every night," I say brightly. "Well, almost every night."
"How long is this game going to last?" she scowls.
"About three hours," I say.
We don't have cable, but I can hear every pitch on the radio. Denny Matthews is an old friend coming through the speaker, doing the play-by-play as I scrape old contact paper off the kitchen wall. It's the Wall of Agony, as I have listened to many close games while working away on that wall. Steve Physioc takes turns with Denny and pisses me off the way he yells with excitement every time the opposing defense runs down a Royals hit. He's on the Royals Radio Network so when he starts yelling you think something good is happening for our side. Such a let-down when you realize it was the OTHER team that made the great play. Damn Physioc.
When we are playing at home I can hear the "Let's go Royals' chants, the organ cranking away, and Moose calls ringing out from the stands. When we play in Chicago I still hear Royals chants and Moose calls because so many Kansas Citians live in Chi-town or trek up there for games.
After the game comes the post-game show where Josh Vernier talks us all down off the ledge if we lost, or gloats with us if we won. I don't get tired of hearing people talk about baseball. You would think, but no.
I am dreading the end of the season. Turning on the game has become a nightly ritual. Followed up with a recap of the game's highlights the next day. What will I do without the happy chatter about shut-out innings, stolen bases, double-plays? In the last month it's been more weeping and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments over our skid, but even so, even when it's not good, it's still baseball.
Go Royals.
I discovered that the best song to listen to while watching Royals baseball clips from this past summer is Roger Whitaker's "I don't believe in if anymore." It helps me deal.
For, my dear Royals....they played so well right up until September.... But this has not been a good month for them. Wobbly pitching, sloppy base-running, milquetoast bats. They made the playoffs because their early wins put them so far ahead of the pack, but lately they've been on a losing streak, and they won't last long in the playoffs if it continues.
"Baseball was designed to break your heart." Someone said it.
I took a highlight reel and slapped my new song onto it, and made the video below.
Oh glorious baseball season, lasting from April to October. Oh glorious baseball summer. What a glut of riches I have enjoyed lo' these many months, following the Royals. A new game every night! Every few days, a new team, a new city representin'.
My 16-year old daughter groans when I turn on the radio.
"They're playing again? Do they play every night?"
"Every night," I say brightly. "Well, almost every night."
"How long is this game going to last?" she scowls.
"About three hours," I say.
We don't have cable, but I can hear every pitch on the radio. Denny Matthews is an old friend coming through the speaker, doing the play-by-play as I scrape old contact paper off the kitchen wall. It's the Wall of Agony, as I have listened to many close games while working away on that wall. Steve Physioc takes turns with Denny and pisses me off the way he yells with excitement every time the opposing defense runs down a Royals hit. He's on the Royals Radio Network so when he starts yelling you think something good is happening for our side. Such a let-down when you realize it was the OTHER team that made the great play. Damn Physioc.
When we are playing at home I can hear the "Let's go Royals' chants, the organ cranking away, and Moose calls ringing out from the stands. When we play in Chicago I still hear Royals chants and Moose calls because so many Kansas Citians live in Chi-town or trek up there for games.
After the game comes the post-game show where Josh Vernier talks us all down off the ledge if we lost, or gloats with us if we won. I don't get tired of hearing people talk about baseball. You would think, but no.
I am dreading the end of the season. Turning on the game has become a nightly ritual. Followed up with a recap of the game's highlights the next day. What will I do without the happy chatter about shut-out innings, stolen bases, double-plays? In the last month it's been more weeping and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments over our skid, but even so, even when it's not good, it's still baseball.
Go Royals.
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I like this. I love you, you baseball nut!
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