We all have these things in our lives that remind us of better times, of better places. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells, textures that transport us body and mind to a place we would rather be, to a time we would rather relive. Scientists call it sense memory, and it is the thing of poetry, of long winded prose from the 19th century, and of gaseous bloviators of the television era.
To me, it is a thing of beauty. A gift from God, or the great tree spirit or the aliens or the luckiest of lucky cellular division. It is one of the things that transcends culture race and species.
In animals we can see them remember smells and tie them to strong emotions; fear, lust, hunger (whatever, hunger is an emotion dammit), and it is what drives them.
We are not so far removed from these animals that the same cannot be said for us. The difference being; with us, we tend to drag these deeper emotions, these more complicated memories and reactions out of them.
For me, there is nothing as powerful as Baseball. Some might find this strange, since to them baseball is a boring sport which takes forever, and you are never fully sure of the rules. These people do not understand. It's ok, they don't have to. They can live their lives in an unknowing haze, but for me, baseball is sense memory. Baseball is pure and it is clean.
I can remember the smells. Fresh cut grass. It brings me to a tranquil place; a place of promise and excitement. The smell of the grass and of pine tar and of sweet spring air is all that you need to incessant about baseball. You see baseball is an edge of your seat thing where anything can, and routinely does happen.
Many people see it as this long, slow march towards the finish line, but that is football. I won't compare the two; that has already been done by someone greater than I. What I will do though is mention the great anticipation. The waiting with baited breath for something to happen, and just when you think all is lost, crack, the sound of ball and bat colliding.
That brings me to sounds. The cacophony of crowd met by the utter silence as there is a split second, when pitcher stares down batter. The pitcher is full of self determination, the batter, such assurance that something great is about to happen stares back, Then a rush of noise, as either bat meets ball or ball meets leather. The roar of the crowd either way, is either heightened byt the result or stunned back in to silence. The undulating noises as the epic struggle repeats itself is at once maddening and indescribably exhilarating.
You hear all sorts of words coming out of people. Pep talks, shouts of encouragement, and derisive snorts of "he ain't so tough."
It is all so loud and quiet that a person can go mad if they aren't strong.
The sights are amazing. The green pastoral roll of grass. The perfect manicured dirt on the infield. The crisp white lines, destined to become obscured as they are trod on.
The hulking brute of a slugger saunters up to the plate. The fat pitchers spits some chew on the ground. The infielder slaps his glove. The outfield circles, impatient and daring that ball to come his way.
The perfect slide. The dive for a ball in the outfield. The leap over a guy with razor sharp blades on his feet to turn 2.
The blue sky overhead tells a tranquil story of a pastoral game being played by overgrown boys.
The physical sensations can match this. The warm sun bakes your skin as it heats the ground and creates an up swirl. The wind blows just enough to cool you off... not to mention enough to ruin the day of a pitcher as it sweeps the ball out of the stadium; or, the batter as it pushes a ball back and down, turning a mammoth shot in to a lazy flyball. The feel of your palm against the leather of your glove as you anticipate making a difference, even if it is saving the pretty lacdy next to you from an errant foul.
Speaking of the stands, what can one say about the tastes of the game. The ballpark dogs, the sodas, the popcorn. Ih the peanuts, and shells, the crackerjacks and the beer.
A wonderful day at the park, win or lose. Just not rain or shine, cause these boys only play when it's nice out, they ain't crazy!
This was the first in no doubt what will be a long line of posts on baseball. You see, baseball was my first and only true love. She never left me. She never treated me wrong, even when she was playing hard to get.
I will never forget the role baseball has played in my life, and baby, I am back, and I promise to never treat ya wrong again.
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