Invisible Man on Third!
In the presence of the ineffable
I am not, by any means, a traditional sports fan. I played field hockey and lacrosse in high school, but that was not particularly unusual for a Long Island girl of my era. I was oblivious to most team allegiances until David’s work took him to Penn State University, where sports is an integral part of academic administration, particularly in the area of fundraising. Alums love to come back for games, particularly if the teams are good. Once I realized sports could be viewed as theater- a sort of magnificent version of improv- I quite enjoyed attending events. Having a team to root for just added to the interest. I now live in Pittsburgh, where team loyalty is legendary, and the teams have storied pasts. But mostly I go to games for the show- I’m not big on the rules. In particular, I love a summer afternoon baseball game.
There is something about baseball that brings out the mystic in its fans. Something of this is celebrated in the arts: Field of Dreams for example, with the ghosts of past heroes emerging from a cornfield, or The Great Iowa Baseball Confederacy about a game that lasts at least 40 days and 40 nights through unending rain. Or the storied Curse of the Babe that haunted the Red Sox or the Curse of the Billy Goat on the Cubs. I felt it yesterday when I was at a game at Oracle Stadium (That CAN’T be a mere coincidence) at which the…
