Baseball: what a season. The Houston Astros, one of the last among the last teams of "Lovable Losers," won the World Series. I have been privileged to see the Boston Red Sox, Chicago White Sox, Chicago Cubs, and now Astros, finally win the trophy. Baseball: what other sport compares to it: the Fall Classic, best of seven wins, the bottom of the ninth of game seven. Will the starter be relieved, can the American League pitcher hit the ball, and no designated hitter in the National League town.
Now the Series is over, and an unofficial beginning of winter is here. What else can be said of baseball? The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn, and the poem by A. Bartlet Giamatti of baseball breaking one's heart: how can anyone else do a better job describing baseball? The season ends as the winter chill of November's eve arrives, and reminding everyone of the months to come without the playing of ball. We have our memories, baseball cards, caps, and other memorabilia to sustain us until the warmth of spring comes with the aroma of hotdogs and peanuts, dawning the arrival of a new season when the umpire steps out to implore the players to "Play ball!"
Now the Series is over, and an unofficial beginning of winter is here. What else can be said of baseball? The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn, and the poem by A. Bartlet Giamatti of baseball breaking one's heart: how can anyone else do a better job describing baseball? The season ends as the winter chill of November's eve arrives, and reminding everyone of the months to come without the playing of ball. We have our memories, baseball cards, caps, and other memorabilia to sustain us until the warmth of spring comes with the aroma of hotdogs and peanuts, dawning the arrival of a new season when the umpire steps out to implore the players to "Play ball!"
