It's always struck me as funny that "punks" and sports are often thought to be mutually exclusive. Oil and water, if one must. Well...I don't must.
(I wrote a whole diatribe, but deleted it because it was kinda crap and my formatting sucks. I'll try to be more brief this time.) Anyway...
I'm a Tigers man, myself. Much like the LA logo on that cap, the Olde English "D" on the Detroit cap is iconic, and also one of the ways that separates baseball from all other sports. It's not just a team to root for, it's not about wearing another man's name on your back, it's not about being a billboard for some mega-rich owner (even though it still kinda is). It's about one's roots, one's ideals, one's philosophy on life.
It's also a statement that says, "Hell yes I will go play hookey on a Wednesday afternoon and enjoy a summer day. Shit, it might be my last Wednesday ever. Let's get three hot dogs."
There are few vessels in life that are a more enriching environment to spend time with another person on a visceral level than a baseball game. Big Leagues or high school, Double-A or whatever the hell they do in Savannah. It's you and your seats. Your territory. You own that spot for those three hours. You get to dictate whether you are hanging on every pitch, writing notations in pencil. If you wanna spend that time talking shit about other people at the game, also good. You can spend that time breaking bad news, or good news, in an environment that assures the reaction to it will be controlled. Or, you can have a debate about the merits of mustard. You get to design your day, enveloped by the safe confines of a structure that has been thriving for longer than you have been alive. It's about respect. Respect for your companion. Respect for the field. Respect for the hard work and insane dedication those fellas have to be in front of you. Respect for strangers as you stand, without question, to allow them to pass by, so they can pass...something no one wants to think about, three sections over and up an escalator.
The point is, baseball fucking rocks. If someone is "too cool" for baseball? That's fine. Their loss and more room for us to have fun in peace.
As a side note:
Jim, if you want any tips or handy local-ish knowledge about Yankee Stadium, feel free to reach out. I was on a streak of at least 6 (could it have been nine?) years of going to the games when the Tigers were in town, before life had another mission for me. I've sat in the bleachers. I've sat in the seats where you are on TV all game, conscious not to pick your nose. I know the area.
Great piece. It reminded me of being a young punk rock kid and being the only guy in my clique/band that was into sports. People were often flabbergasted by my not too subtle Los Angeles (then STL) Rams fandom.
We get back to the US on the 31st, and Sebastian starts baseball the very next day haha. I find it ironic that, after stressing over cultural reintegration for the last couple of months, I will be thrust into the most “American” of activities possible, right off the bat (pun intended). We root for the Rockies based solely on geography, but I was raised to be a Dodger fan by my mom, who grew up in LA. She lost her dad when she was 7, and she always had a soft-spot for Wally Moon, who reminded her of him. She has a baseball signed by one of the early 60’s teams he played on, along with Sandy Koufax (though the latter signature is quite faint).
Great newsletter, as always, Jim!
It's always struck me as funny that "punks" and sports are often thought to be mutually exclusive. Oil and water, if one must. Well...I don't must.
(I wrote a whole diatribe, but deleted it because it was kinda crap and my formatting sucks. I'll try to be more brief this time.) Anyway...
I'm a Tigers man, myself. Much like the LA logo on that cap, the Olde English "D" on the Detroit cap is iconic, and also one of the ways that separates baseball from all other sports. It's not just a team to root for, it's not about wearing another man's name on your back, it's not about being a billboard for some mega-rich owner (even though it still kinda is). It's about one's roots, one's ideals, one's philosophy on life.
It's also a statement that says, "Hell yes I will go play hookey on a Wednesday afternoon and enjoy a summer day. Shit, it might be my last Wednesday ever. Let's get three hot dogs."
There are few vessels in life that are a more enriching environment to spend time with another person on a visceral level than a baseball game. Big Leagues or high school, Double-A or whatever the hell they do in Savannah. It's you and your seats. Your territory. You own that spot for those three hours. You get to dictate whether you are hanging on every pitch, writing notations in pencil. If you wanna spend that time talking shit about other people at the game, also good. You can spend that time breaking bad news, or good news, in an environment that assures the reaction to it will be controlled. Or, you can have a debate about the merits of mustard. You get to design your day, enveloped by the safe confines of a structure that has been thriving for longer than you have been alive. It's about respect. Respect for your companion. Respect for the field. Respect for the hard work and insane dedication those fellas have to be in front of you. Respect for strangers as you stand, without question, to allow them to pass by, so they can pass...something no one wants to think about, three sections over and up an escalator.
The point is, baseball fucking rocks. If someone is "too cool" for baseball? That's fine. Their loss and more room for us to have fun in peace.
As a side note:
Jim, if you want any tips or handy local-ish knowledge about Yankee Stadium, feel free to reach out. I was on a streak of at least 6 (could it have been nine?) years of going to the games when the Tigers were in town, before life had another mission for me. I've sat in the bleachers. I've sat in the seats where you are on TV all game, conscious not to pick your nose. I know the area.
Either way, enjoy the trip!
Thank you for this -- I think there's an essay here!
Oh man, so sad to read about Avielle, and I'm very sorry for you and your friends' loss
"means being a member of not one, but two communities that look down on sports." This was very definitely on my mind when I began Sporting Moustaches
Thanks, Aug!
Great piece. It reminded me of being a young punk rock kid and being the only guy in my clique/band that was into sports. People were often flabbergasted by my not too subtle Los Angeles (then STL) Rams fandom.
Thanks, Gary!
Thanks for another great read. Have a great rest of your trip, including the Yanks game. Go Dodgers. Go Kershaw.
Thanks, Travis!
We get back to the US on the 31st, and Sebastian starts baseball the very next day haha. I find it ironic that, after stressing over cultural reintegration for the last couple of months, I will be thrust into the most “American” of activities possible, right off the bat (pun intended). We root for the Rockies based solely on geography, but I was raised to be a Dodger fan by my mom, who grew up in LA. She lost her dad when she was 7, and she always had a soft-spot for Wally Moon, who reminded her of him. She has a baseball signed by one of the early 60’s teams he played on, along with Sandy Koufax (though the latter signature is quite faint).
That is wild. No jet lag for Sebastian!