LISTEN. My team lost a nailbiter last night, as the Dodgers broke the tie in the 9th and took the wildcard.
As predicted, this morning I find myself musing that it's only a game, after all, so why all the fuss? And my inner ten-year-old is having none of it. Good. I want to stay in touch with the ten-year-old. He's the one who believes, like the late Bart Giamatti in "Green Fields of the Mind," that something can be forever. The wisest of us grow out of that.
They grow out of sports. And there are others who were born with the wisdom to know that nothing lasts. These are the truly tough among us, the ones who can live without illusion, or without even the hope of illusion. I am not that grown-up or up-to-date. I am a simpler creature, tied to more primitive patterns and cycles. I need to think something lasts forever, and it might as well be that state of being that is a game; it might as well be that, in a green field, in the sun.
My inner ten-year-old is tender-minded, not so tough. Good for him. His successor's got disillusion more than covered. The kid can't wait for Spring Training. The older guy just looks forward to Friday night's Dodgers-Giants game. (And Friday morning's flight out to LA !) He knows "forever" is childhood's dream, so he's focused on the passing now... (continues)
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