New York City: 09.22.16.
I don’t think Ring Lardner would say it. Roger Angell probably wouldn’t say it either. Not that it’s parochial, or too folksy, or from the province of overhanded or simplistic locutions. It’s perhaps too quaint and nice sounding, or, was it that it was made impure by the constant chorale of ESPNers invoking it like a well-timed chyron? For whatever reason, it seemed taboo to say it. Suffering from hyper-aware superstition (October is so close) and seriousness (it aint October yet). But think about it: the warm-to-prickling-hot sunshine had become a Rothko impersonation by sunset which meant gametime which meant grown adults in the alarming orange and blue by the thousands. And everyone was very accepting of it. If you were dressed normally, or, say, with particularly branded red garments or accessories on, the orange and blue crowd could get mean, and quickly. But look around and dontsayitbecausewhowould: Baseball weather.