What is the point of baseball, what’s so exciting about it? A man with a stick hits a ball somebody threw at him. Yea? I tried to watch one time and I just couldn’t get past all the spitting. The pitcher looks at the batter, spit, spit. The batter stares back spit, spit. The camera pans the dugout a cacophony of spitting. Those guys could easily double as lawn sprinklers.
Then the announcer decides to hit you with some statistics, “ Big J the old number nine is got a A.B.K of 42 and a B.R.W. of 78 an over 32 for the total half season and that on Astro turf. He plays the violin.” Oh great, now that I know this, my life’s complete!
No wonder baseball and beer go hand and hand. The mind numbing action of somebody waiting to throw a ball and somebody waiting for a good pitch to swing at can make minutes seem like days.
The chances are slim but some poor outfielder could train all his life to be the very best in his position. And never ever have anyone hit the ball his way his whole professional career. You think your bored watching the game, he has to listen to drunk fans blather on about baseball stuff, “Yah, babe we’re number one, you guys is bums!” Waving a foam finger, while wearing their hat backwards (Yes grown men that are somehow hat challenged). He doesn’t worry though; they’ll all be passed out by the fourth inning.
And the names of things are so romantic like, the dugout a bunch of guys sitting in a hole. What other times do men sit in a hole? Oh yeah, war!
Then the announcer decides to hit you with some statistics, “ Big J the old number nine is got a A.B.K of 42 and a B.R.W. of 78 an over 32 for the total half season and that on Astro turf. He plays the violin.” Oh great, now that I know this, my life’s complete!
No wonder baseball and beer go hand and hand. The mind numbing action of somebody waiting to throw a ball and somebody waiting for a good pitch to swing at can make minutes seem like days.
The chances are slim but some poor outfielder could train all his life to be the very best in his position. And never ever have anyone hit the ball his way his whole professional career. You think your bored watching the game, he has to listen to drunk fans blather on about baseball stuff, “Yah, babe we’re number one, you guys is bums!” Waving a foam finger, while wearing their hat backwards (Yes grown men that are somehow hat challenged). He doesn’t worry though; they’ll all be passed out by the fourth inning.
And the names of things are so romantic like, the dugout a bunch of guys sitting in a hole. What other times do men sit in a hole? Oh yeah, war!
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