Beautifully Strange

Miguel Sano punched Brian McCann in his catcher’s mask, and we were all reminded why we love the game. Whenever there’s a bench clearing, the headlines read “Brawl”. I buy into it, and then I’m quickly reminded of what sport I’m watching when the so called melee consists of pushing, shoving, and a few dynamic titty twisters. The best part is when the guys run in from the bullpen, as if Koji Uehara is gonna to start fucking people up with some Steven Seagal shit. Sometimes the coaches get into it. Then you realize their beef has less to do with what happened in this game, and more to do with what happened in a bar, back in ’72 while they were playing winter ball in the Dominican Republic. These are the moments where you start thinking, “What the fuck is this sport?” You relish in that confusion for a few seconds, and then you can’t help but smile. Because this is baseball, it’s beautifully strange.

I forget how goofy it is that coaches wear uniforms, until Bruce Bochy makes a pitching change, and those old catcher knees start knocking against each other. In your heart of hearts, you just wanna run out there and give the guy a pair of loose fitting khakis, but you can’t because it’s tradition. Baseball’s a game that dates back 150 years, made up of players with their own set of idiosyncrasies and tricks of the trade. I had a coach tell me to piss on my hands in the shower, because it would help with blisters. He said it like he was some old Native American healer, whose methods were passed on through hundreds of generations. That’s the culture of baseball. There’s a lot of “What?” and “How?” Whether it’s Jason Giambi’s slump busting golden thong, or Dock Ellis throwing a no-hitter on acid, the folklore of this sport is one that continues to grow. Last night, Miguel Sano threw a right cross that resulted in zero damage. Grown men, in goofy clothes, cursed each other. Sunflower seeds flew through the air, and I fell in love with baseball again.