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Baseball Is Life: Collidering and Departing Worlds
Baseball Is Life: Collidering and Departing Worlds

Baseball Is Life: Collidering and Departing Worlds

We introverts spend a lot of time in our introverted holes, and do not even notice that we have not had actual, personal interaction with another member of the human race until we may notice a large introverted hole disorder, such as. a sudden lack of cookies. This forces reflection on the outside world.

  • … Where are the cookies?
  • Did I eat the cakes?
  • What about the other person / people I live with – did han / hun / de eat the cakes?
  • Is it likely that this person / one of these people will fill in the cookie?
  • If not, why not?
  • What should I do?
  • That’s why I hate people.
  • I do not understand why I do not have more friends.
  • I would feel better with all this if I had a cake.
  • … Where are the cookies?

And so on. You now see why so many of us are basket boxes, why we hide behind doors and spouses and dogs and birds at parties. There is always a crisis, and when the crisis happens, there may be three people we can call, and at least two of them have probably played a fairly large role in perpetuating the crisis.

Baseball Is Life: Collidering and Departing Worlds

Part of the problem is that since introverts are usually polite with anything but willing to leave home for precious few, we tend to cultivate separate worlds of friends, unless you’re from Cincinnati’s West Side, which is a gigantic contiguous world. covered by Skyline dip. The friend chart of all West Side relationships is a simple, neat circle, and at the center of that circle is a basketball tournament for weekends that attended the dentist’s other cousin, who is also the referee, as well as the sister’s return date in 1992.

So as an introvert cultivated in this socially collapsed star in a voting district, most of my relationships were cemented in high school and college. There is little collision in the groups I circulate in, because I did the two things the west side does not do: I left. And then I came back with just zero children.

This leaves me with a random selection of separate universes, partly because I am also a living opposite of interests and inclinations. I go to yoga and also go to big old Latin fairs. No one else who regularly attends yoga can walk into your local TLM. No one who goes to a traditional Latin fair hangs a yoga mat next to her chapel veils. I am alone in both and the only connecting node between both.

For the most part, this is fine – to even prefer – but to work while this whole galaxy of weirdness is apart takes its toll during the baseball season. Yoga people do not like sports (competition, ew) unless they are in them and make muscular paths through the class during a rehabilitation. TLM people do not like professional sports because every moment dedicated to batting averages means less time to internet quarrel about the Council of Trent. I do not expect the worlds of yoga and TLM to meet, but the occasional rope bridge would be nice.

Other people, I am told – normal people – flow in and out of groups of friends with the seasons. There are people who see family members and maintain internet contact much more often in the spring and summer due to you saw almost no-hitter? And then the acquaintances nod from Thanksgiving to Valentine’s Day. I was amazed when the members laughed when I asked if they hung out in the low season, the year I spent after the Ohio State marching band. No, so de. Why should they do that that? We live together for five months and then we might wave the quad, they said. We need a break.

That I can understand. But baseball is the eternal unit it is – what’s the point of the season if you do not spend the low season talking about the season and guessing next season? – It is strange to me that the closeness formed over box scores and the slow thump on the glove dictates the conditions of the relationship. Is it the buffer (“Even when my dad and I could not talk about anything else, we could talk about baseball), or is it the container (” My baseball friends are my family “)?

One of you must be one of those normal people, jumping between these colliding and departing worlds. Which is it? Both? I accept both. And also some cookies.

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