Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Three of the 4 B's

[All the EZLN, zapatista and Other Campaign translations are sitting in our Library.]


Yes, I’ve been horrid, I know.

And once again I shan’t bore anyone with any tedious details other than the bloody migraine which laid waste to my entire Tuesday.

I had been working on ofrendas for Día de los Muertos, something I’d never done before, and it turned out to be a surprisingly illuminating experience. As soon as I re-master the art of collage making in Picassa, I’ll post them.

Now, off to the profoundly important topic/s of needlework and baseball, and, no, they’re hardly incompatible. Not only have I spent many an evening happily engaged in both [fingers engaged in one, eyes on the other], but they delight in such similar fashions.

I’ve always been reticent to speak my heart about baseball for fear of sounding like one of those disgruntled, sentimental older gentlemen, waxing nostalgic for some sort of glory days. Suffice, perhaps, that much of what I’ve loved about this sport [though I’ve always considered it an art] no longer exists. Except, as some of us know, in the minors.

Outside, on illegal Spring afternoons [whilst perfecting the art of forging school notes] or long perfect Summer nights [perfecting the ability to hold one’s lager]. Sometimes meticulously plotting the plays, other times surrendering to festive chaos or fierce contest, but always knowing that I’d stepped into an alternative dimension. It was exactly the place where I learned that other, much more resonant, worlds, did indeed exist and could, therefore, be created.

Now I know this particular place no longer exists [except in Triple A], but it did and therefore can. Nor, most unfortunately, do the Boys. The lanky, impassioned, naïve and often deeply eccentric ones. I disappeared for a while into another world, and when I came back they had all turned into No Neck Williams [or football players, for those of you who don’t recognize the reference]. Massive, unattractive dump truck sorts of boys. And it wasn’t until the last few years that I realized this transformation had been the direct consequence of the corporate, profit-driven, media/owners/stadium conglomerates, pumping them full of steroids, turning the game into a fool’s paradise of heavy hitting apes.

Yes, among the many tragedies visited on the world by savage capitalism, it has also destroyed an entire genre of fanciable boy.

As I said, it’s very hard to opine on the subject without sounding whingy and delicate.

And the game, itself, madre de dios. George Carlin understood some of it. Its far boundaries weren’t proscribed. A ball would fly as far as one boy could hit it; a game would go on as long as 18 boys could last. An infinity of possibility.

Perfection was everywhere, but it coexisted with struggle, promise and heartbreak, with plenty of room for farce, vaudeville and flirtations in the bleachers. All manner and level of relationship were of equal import: team, pair [battery, double-play combo], individual [the glories of stats, but the measuring of RBIs and ERAs had as much to do with player against self as it did with the record books].

The boys entertained us, each other, but, most of all, themselves. And we were enchanted, mesmerized, seduced endlessly by, and like, the game.

And, as for how one might see baseball as metaphor for campaign, I’ll leave that up to anyone with a fertile imagination and a few free moments.

9 comments:

miguel said...

Hooray for George Carlin :-)
Few comedians have ever hit as many home runs in their comedic delivery.
I'd say 'no pun intended', but it would make a liar out of me.
Best wishes irl :-)

TripleJ said...

I too long for good baseball matches which sadly we never see on free to air TV in Oz.

I still remember Ozzie Smith playing for St Louis, aged 39 or 40, doing an acrobatic short stop catch that was just fantstic to watch and then double playing 2nd and 1st base. Go Cardinals!!! :^)

My other team is the Texas Rangers :^)

And yes the steroids are no good, they are affecting all sports, baseball, cycling, etc...

It's simple really, apply life time bans on sportsmen who are caught out, along with a bit of Stalinist philosophy: "Better to ban 100 innocent sportsmen than let a guilty one go free!" :^)

And as I recall, Miguel was a pretty good switch hitter and 1st baseman :^) unfortunately the rest of the team left a lot to be desired :^))

Anonymous said...

**OC Hydroponics**

penguinrocket said...

The hour is far too late for me to attempt clever analogies, but I just wanted to say welcome back--it's such a pleasure to read your words again.

irlandesa said...

Ooh, you guys are so sweet. Now if only Blogger would get their damn photo upload working again - you won't believe the pic I have for this post!

miguel said...

triplej: they still ask me to come back to the team :-)
I recently found all my baseball gear.
And as a matter of fact, I remember that exact Ozzie Smith catch :-) what a freak
Ozzie Smith reminded me of me. No matter how well he played, the team always lost :-)
< /self-righteous plug>

Anonymous said...

'you've got to let the nothingness into your shots'
glad to know u're okay

Comrada B said...

Sweet Irl...
Oh my...those nasty migraines and I are like neighbors who have lived next door to each other for too long and fight all the time (lol) Glad you are feeling better and back into the swing of things...(grins)

My favorite baseball song, actually has to do with love...

"Everyone sings home of the brave and land of the free. You've had twenty wins and one save, now you're up against me. How can I keep control of my nerves the way you wind up when you throw me those curves? I hear him yell strike and it's a good call, it's so hard to keep my eye's on the ball... You have played with me like a pawn, for most of the night. How'd ya get that uniform on so perfectly tight? Ya struck me out twice I singled but died...then made me wind up, by sneekin' inside...I'm gonna change that sneer to respect, make your eye's open wide when ya feel me connect...
~on the baseball, love is just like baseball ...all it is is baseball, love is just like baseball~
Here I am behind in the ninth, counts 3 and 2. End the game like Bethoven's Ninth is what I must do... so now that we're here alone in the dark I'm gonna send this right outta the park. If I was you I'd leave it alone, 'cause I'm tearin' 'round third, slidin' towards home."
'Baseball' by Michael Franks

Many a satin stitch and french knot bordado home run's accomplished, but hardly a singled glance upward at the game, in this field (Gioconda dirty look)

In fact I am missing, as I post, our all womens office all womens softball game. There is a whole season ahead and I promised to play cheerleader. Every following morning back at the office I have to come up with new curve balls as to why I missed the game (lol)

Slidin' towards home and it looks strangely rectangular and satin (sweet dreams)

B

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