I was nineteen the summer of 1956 when the Baseball Fairy tapped me with her wand and almost sent me into orbit. 

Junior is not getting out of his car.

It’s January in Ohio, and he has just driven all night from Florida. This car—a 1991 Nissan 300ZX—is a beautiful ride, a rich deep cherry color, the colors

“But what if it isn’t broken? What if this is the way it’s supposed to be? Like, a new challenge that keeps things interesting. Something unexplainable that helps.”

Baseball Players I Remember (I Watched Baseball 1-4 Years as a Child. I Collected Cards. My Favorite Team Was The Braves)

Ron Gant. I remember he bent his knees
in a weird, intriguing way

Every time our son comes to the plate, I hold my breath.

When I was fifteen, I started receiving letters from Division I baseball coaches about the possibility of joining them on such and such Elysian Field and helping the squad reach its goal, which

I didn’t become a fan of baseball until I was in my early twenties. As a teenager, I thought sports were antithetical to the sort of arty, book-reading persona that I had been trying so hard to affect.

They are the junk-baller, the relic, the trickster, the reinvention, the resurrection. A synonym for “reliever” could be “healer.”

When the time came for its demolition, there was no implosion at Shea Stadium.

I’m not one of those guys who watches the ball launch
off the bat into the right field seats.

I trace the windup with my elbow, my arm like a wing
unfurling, red lace licking off my feathertips.

Nobody could be quite certain where it started, but Mr. Met was the first anyone noticed.

March 7, 2015
Spring Training - Cactus League
Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
vs.
Oakland Athletics
Hohokam Stadium
Mason, AZ

Los

“I thought it was boring,” he told me, “partly because I'd just learned English. But learning the language and the terminology and how the game is played was the big change.”

We're hoping to hear some passion tonight at the hotel if we cup our ears up to the door of their room.

By the seventh stretch
We gave up.

Punching our gloves as the sun raced toward dinner, 
we sorted into teams and agreed on the rules
in a minute or less.

You could tell Heather was a catcher by looking at her thighs, but she brought an infielder's mitt to the game that day.

There is no bond quite like the one Yankees fans in New England share.

PS – This film deserves its every cult and to be ranked even beyond into the commonly over-valued status of a classic

Here in Philadelphia, there’s a comfortable familiarity in the air, a sense of impending mediocrity to which every lifelong Phillies fan has grown accustomed. The bandwagon is empty, the ride over.

Throw one hundred miles per hour, fastballs so fast the shortstop slaps you on the ass at the end of the inning.

David
Could be anyone by now. I hope he's okay. I hope they're all okay.

I miss the moment his bat cracks the ball.

We’re speaking of salvation, god damn it,
And only the incurious break slumps.