As I lay down last night in that chair thingy that extends into a bed, watching a crappy web feed of the Phils game amidst the beeping of machines and (not at all) interruptions of (amazing) nurses, holding a newborn son named after the man who taught me to love the team, I was overcome a bit with even more emotion than already enveloped the Nag and me. Baseball, like life (if I'm stretching here, kindly recall that I've slept like thirteen minutes and give me some bolgtistic license), is a daily event. One day's disappointment can be met by the next's reclamation. That reclamation then with majesty. That majesty then with humility. That humility then with, oh, who knows, more disappointment. Have you then, all told, accomplished nothing? Not at all.
"What can I write that sounds all smart?", I whispered to him. "Scoreboards measure victories, not winners. How's that?" He farted, I laughed.
I'm kind of glad the Phils lost 9-2 and someone set a silly record against them last night. Growing up we watched so many losses, and so many bad teams. The Phillies were baseball's equivalent of a homecoming opponent. We watched them together. This donkey is going to witness a ton of losses. But, clearly, that never meant- and won't ever mean- as much as the watching.
Enjoy it, kids. Enjoy it all.