“This ain’t a football game; we do this every day.” – Earl Weaver
You’re minding your own business. You’re sleep walking through your day, your week, your month. The routine rhythms of life lolling you into security. You let your guard down.
That’s when it happens.
You stop looking around the corner for the bad guys. You condition yourself to waking up, going to work, making dinner, turning on the game.
Life steps off the mindless treadmill. People get sick. Or fall in love. They die, they’re born, they lose their jobs.
This is when I appreciate baseball the most.
Death and taxes may be all that’s certain, but the cadence of baseball is solid enough to lean on. Its steadfast pulse the steadying hand over uneven ground.