"It’s like just falling in love—you want the sensations to last forever. You don’t want to go to sleep because you know that no matter how good you feel, in the morning it won’t be as good as it is right now.” -- Kinsella, W.P., "Shoeless Joe."
The San Francisco Giants' season looks like it's finally out of steam.
One year removed from the magic championship team feels much more deflating than I thought it would. I'm moving on to other sports, leaving baseball behind.
"The play reaffirms what I already know—that baseball is the most perfect of games, solid, true, pure and precious as diamonds. If only life were so simple." -- Kinsella, W.P., "Shoeless Joe."
The leaves are starting to turn in Medford. The outermost leaves on the smallest trees are turning a fiery orange. They darken, die, and fall. But they'll be back in six months, born again, ready to soak up another half year of summer sun.
So will baseball.
"I have to absorb the new season like sunlight, letting it turn my winter skin pink and then brown." -- Kinsella, W.P., "Shoeless Joe."
An article is sticking in my mind and heart. It tells one of the countless untold stories of baseball. Not of a star player. Nor a player who made it to the majors. It's a 32-year-old chasing down dreams and struggling to find peace.
I'm instantly brought back to one of my favorite video features about another minor league player, Josh Faiola, who has a stay-with-you story of his own.
"[They'll come] ...innocent as children, longing for the past... Baseball reminds us of all that was once good, and could be again."
To me, baseball is gone for now.
Sleeping, waiting its turn in the sports year.
Ready to blossom again with a new season's worth of players, stories, and hope.
“If I’d only got to be a doctor for five minutes, now that would have been a tragedy. You have to keep things in perspective. I mean, I love the game, but it’s only that, a game.” -- Kinsella, W.P., "Shoeless Joe."