Before today, I couldn’t have told you what dreams tasted like. I could have told you what they smelled like. They smell of freshly mowed grass, sweat, oiled leather, dirt, stale beer, pine tar, and chewing tobacco. They sound like the crack of a wooden bat hitting a tightly-wound ball of string and leather, and the corresponding roar of the crowd as they cheer you round the horn.
Posts TaggedBaseball
Magical Thinking In America: Taco Trucks, Drag Queens, Baseball And Love
An experimental exercise in ideas and language. When you buy a ticket to the circus, you expect to see some crazy shit, but what you don’t expect is for the circus to burst into your living room and start getting it on right in front of you. There is nothing…
America’s Game
One of the hardest things to endure when it comes to the global COVID-19 pandemic—for me at least—has been the lack of baseball. To those who are not fans of the game, or sports in general, this might seem callous or even downright offensive in light of the death and…
You’re No Athlete
There is nothing funnier in the world than seeing a grown man pretending to be a professional athlete. You’ve seen them. Pushing 40. Beginnings of a pot belly. Wearing the jersey with someone else’s name on the back. Like any minute they’re going to get the call, “Jimmy, we need…