Missed Me?

22 04 2009

Not likely, but I will pretend you have anyhow for my own fragile little ego’s sake. I don’t have a lot to say right now. Actually that is 100% completely not true. I have PLENTY to say right now but no time to say it. The reason I have been blogsent (blogging and absent get it?) is because life is basically HELL right now. The last two weeks of school, the largest single youth event I have all year, and babies that have been sick for 2 weeks (which makes going to work and doing school work a challenge). I’ve just been busy that’s all. I will continue to be busy for one more week’ish and then I will be able to breathe. Please hear me not complaining because everyone else I know is just as busy and their babies have been just as sick as mine are. I’m just excited about the coming break. No school this summer will slow down completion ever so slightly but will afford me something I’ve been missing since last August…TIME. I am so ready to go from gone 4-5 nights a week to gone only 1 (that’s because I hope to be playing softball).

Dear Life,
You pretty much freakin’ rock my face off. I feel like we are pretty tight you and I. It seems a little bit lately you’ve become a bit of a “jag”. I know I have my ‘deustsch-y’ moments but let’s do this. Let’s call a truce. You dig? Thanks for listening.

Nick

P.S.-The dishes in the dishwasher are clean.

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Opening Day

6 04 2009

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I have loved baseball for as long as I can remember. I love most all sports really. I always look forward to the start of another college football season and living and dying with my beloved Auburn Tigers. Baseball is different though. I love baseball in a way that is hard to explain. I’ve played it for years in its many incarnations (t-ball, coach pitch, kid pitch, church softball) and have been a dedicated MLB fan for as long as I can remember. Baseball is very poetic in a way that often doesn’t require words. It is in the coloring of the lush green grass, in the perfectly raked clay of the infield, the pristine whiteness of bases that have yet to be trampled upon by players rounding the bases in hopes of getting to the next one. Baseball has rhythm. I hear many bemoan the “slowness of a game” but it is a peaceful game punctuated with moments of excitement that rip you from your seat and demand that you high five the person next to you whether you know them or not. Baseball is a team sport and yet a solitary figure on any given night can be the hero or the goat. Baseball is ritual. From making sure not to step on baselines , pounding a fist into your glove, or watching the coaches for the signal to steal or swing away. Baseball brings the little kid out of grown men like myself who would like nothing more on an afternoon to sit with a bag of peanuts, a cold beverage, and a scorecard and watch as the game unfolds before us and brings us the joys and the pains of being a fan. I love baseball.

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Every year on this day I am transported to the scene in Field of Dreams where James Earl Jones’ character gives his monologue about baseball and why Kevin Costner should keep his baseball field in the middle of nowhere.  The text of that speech is below as is a clip from Youtube. Happy Opening Day to you no matter who your favorite team may be.

“Ray, people will come, Ray. They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. “Of course, we won’t mind if you have a look around,” you’ll say. “It’s only twenty dollars per person.” They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it; for it is money they have and peace they lack.

And they’ll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they’ll watch the game, and it’ll be as if they’d dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.

People will come, Ray.

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Oh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.”

-Terrence Mann (James Earl Jones) Field of Dreams