Hello again. I am enjoying my off day back home in Akron after a grueling ten day, eleven game road trip. While road trips like this one, which included a double-header, wildly variant game times, night games on our travel days, terrible clubhouses in Erie and Reading, a subpar clubbie in Altoona, and large amounts of other fun stuff, I generally prefer playing games on the road to playing games at home. The number one reason being significantly less time spent sitting around the clubhouse at the stadium with nothing to do. For example, for home games most guys usually end up showing up to the field and 1 or 1:30, which even if I lift weights and/or do some cardio leaves me an hour and a half to two hours to kill before stretch, not to mention approximately the same amount of time before the game after batting practice (which for a pitcher like myself, is basically just a mind numbing experience where I contemplate the relative merits of paper versus plastic). In contrast, by the time the second bus gets to the field there tends to be a half hour or so until stretch and batting practice, which tends to be the perfect amount of time to get myself ready to go. After batting practice there is about an hour, which is a nice amount of time for taking a shower, changing and getting focused in for the game. In addition to less down time at the field I also prefer the fan interactions on the road to the ones at home. I have no problem being accommodating for fans and enjoy interacting with them, but it is a lot more laid back and there are significantly lower expectations from the fans on the road than at home. Also, I enjoy being the object of a good heckling now and then which never happens at home games. Weird I know. So the bottom line I guess is that despite my usual affinity for the road, it is great to be back home for a bit and to have the day off to decompress. I’ll try to make a point of getting a couple more posts up while I’m home for the next week or so, but until then I’ll leave you with yet another poem.
How Simile Works
by Albert Goldbarth
The drizzle-slicked cobblestone alleys
of some city;
and the brickwork back
of the lumbering Galapagos tortoise
they’d set me astride, at the “petting zoo”….
The taste of our squabble still in my mouth
the next day;
and the brackish puddles sectioning
the street one morning after a storm….
So poetry configures its comparisons.
My wife and I have been arguing; now
I’m telling her a childhood reminiscence,
stroking her back, her naked back that was
the particles in the heart of a star and will be
again, and is hers, and is like nothing
else, and is like the components of everything.