"And we're underway..."
The Friday newsletter welcomes back baseball and the promise it brings.
Baseball came back, and this time it didn’t fill me with dread.
The opening of a new baseball season is supposed to feel like hope. While any legitimacy of the sport’s claim to the mantle of America’s “national pastime” fell away decades ago, baseball is still the game that Americans are most prone to nostalgia and poetry over. Its return heralds the coming of spring, of warmth, of a somnambulant, murmuring crowd barely paying attention as a lackadaisical game plays out in front of them on a sun-soaked summer afternoon.
The last time I attended a baseball game was—I would have no way of knowing at the time—the last time a baseball game was played in the city where I live for a long, long time. It was the final game of a minor league season, played on a beautiful, sleepy and still Labor Day afternoon, and it had a dreamlike quality even then, something I waxed poetic about at the time:
Baseball’s the perfect sport for this feeling. There’s so many games, such an endless drumbeat of compet…