What October Baseball Does For Us

We become scientists,
counting backwards preparing for the launch.

We become directors,
setting the stage for our actors, playing their parts diligently, and with
conviction.

But, above all else,
we’ve become children, hands extended with those little digits subtracting
everyday, showing the world our true age.

Though it’s been a
better part of a decade we are still counting down. Many have become adults in
the time in-between, others have been rolling through the decades waiting, and
hoping, with fingers crossed that this will be the moment, and for some this is
their first taste of baseball altogether. But, where all of us meet is in a chilly
February, with the shortened days bringing dreams of warm summer sun, and the
curiosity of how the next winter will begin lingering brightly in the part of
the brain that thinks the things it knows it shouldn’t yet say. In those
February days we are born again, because there is a life we resign ourselves
to, where every year we are granted the opportunity to start fresh, to look
back on the mistakes of a previous life and use them to our advantage in the present one. We are afforded second chances, and the child in us forgives the follies
of former times and sees only the prospect of all of the beautiful things that
can happen, rather than what remains unlikely.

This September has
allowed us to remain children, it has stunted our growth, and the bitter
resentment that comes along with growing up is evident every night at the park:
you’ve got people showing off their counting abilities (3…2…1), painting beards
on their faces, all while toting stuffed pandas between seats and concession
lines. In our hearts, we are young and with childish abandonment we are not
afraid to show it.

 We believe in luck, and we believe in
magic numbers; we believe October magic because the autumn is synonymous with orange,
and we believe in the winds at AT&T. What we believe in outweighs what age
outside of this baseball life has taught us to dispute, and we are a part of
this together. We have all been castaways at one point or another, and though
baseball is an escape from the difficulties of real life, there is even greater
satisfaction in that that’s who we consist of, and what was expected by
everyone aside from that little voice speaking to us back in mid-February.

Now it’s October, one
to go and three to play, and still we are growing more youthful everyday. Who knows
what exists beyond this weekend, but for now it doesn’t matter, we are still
young and living day-to-day as though anyone could be our last. This is
uncharted territory (seven years forces charts to be redrawn) and we certainly
love the ride. But, don’t forget the innocence of baseball, and the beauty of
seeing a summer extended, and hopefully by the end of tonight, we’ll be holding up
no fingers, saying: “I’m this many…and the West is ours.”

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