My father would have been pleased if I shared his passion–his family’s passion–for baseball, but I never could get into it. I’ve always understood the value of playing sports–the exercise and learning how to succeed as part of a team (and how to lose gracefully) but for the life of me I couldn’t grasp why intelligent people spend time watching sports.
When my father was on his death bed and couldn’t so much as remember my name, he could remember that the game was supposed to be on. “What’s the score,” he demanded with crystal clarity. In his life, I imagine, only baseball gave him a sense of true happiness. But why?
Continue reading “Baseball.”
life with interest 