Lately I have had baseball on the mind. Admittedly, I know nothing about the sport but have been drawn to the romance of pitching, hitting, sliding into home and in general anything related to the good 'ole ball game. Reading R.A.Dickey's autobiography,Wherever I Wind Up: My Quest for Truth, Authenticity and the PerfectKnuckleball confirms that baseball doesn't actually have anything to do with baseball- if you know what I mean...
Anyway, here is a poem to consider by the late, great Kenneth Patchen.
The Origin of Baseball Someone had been walking in and out
Of the world without coming To much decision about anything. The sun seemed too hot most of the time. There weren’t enough birds around And the hills had a silly look When he got on top of one. The girls in heaven, however, thought Nothing of asking to see his watch Like you would want someone to tell A joke – “Time,” they’d say, “what’s That mean – Time?”, laughing with the edges Of their white mouths, like a flutter of paper In a mad house. And he’d stumble over General Sherman or Elizabeth B. Browning, muttering, “Can’t you keep Your big wings out of the aisle?” But down Again, there’d be millions of people without Enough to eat and men with guns just Standing there shooting each other.
So he wanted to throw something
And he picked up a baseball.