From Mattapoisett, Massachusetts I relax on the east coast, deeply and hopelessly in love. When summer reaches out her hand, I take it and let her lead me where she will. I can't describe to you the beauty I've seen. I can't descibe the places I've been or the conversations I've had or the love that I've felt.
I just rode down the southeastern Massachusetts coast through the late twilight. I watched the sun descend while listening to Radiohead and writing poetry. Tonight I will sleep in the arms of the breeze.
The Great God Baseball. Tomorrow I will visit thee. Fenway, the shrine, the temple, the hallowed grounds. She is dying; or, more aptly, she is being killed. The names of those who played there will forever echo through the halls of our collective imagination: Ted Williams, the Yaz, Bobby Dewer, Jim Rice, Jimmy Peirsol, Babe Ruth, Johnny Pesky, Hank Greenberg...the list goes on. Tomorrow I will say goodbye to the old yard. There is crying in baseball. Fenway Park: 1912-2001.
Is it wrong to feel things this deeply?
My Great Uncle Mike saw his first game at Wrigley Field when he was 8, back in 1928. Tomorrow he will see what may be his last at the age of 81. But hopefully he will still thrill the way I do, still get goosebumps when he sees the field for the first time, still feel the magic of the game unfold as the Bo Sox take on the hated Braves. God I love baseball.
I would go on but I just have nothing more to say.
I just rode down the southeastern Massachusetts coast through the late twilight. I watched the sun descend while listening to Radiohead and writing poetry. Tonight I will sleep in the arms of the breeze.
The Great God Baseball. Tomorrow I will visit thee. Fenway, the shrine, the temple, the hallowed grounds. She is dying; or, more aptly, she is being killed. The names of those who played there will forever echo through the halls of our collective imagination: Ted Williams, the Yaz, Bobby Dewer, Jim Rice, Jimmy Peirsol, Babe Ruth, Johnny Pesky, Hank Greenberg...the list goes on. Tomorrow I will say goodbye to the old yard. There is crying in baseball. Fenway Park: 1912-2001.
Is it wrong to feel things this deeply?
My Great Uncle Mike saw his first game at Wrigley Field when he was 8, back in 1928. Tomorrow he will see what may be his last at the age of 81. But hopefully he will still thrill the way I do, still get goosebumps when he sees the field for the first time, still feel the magic of the game unfold as the Bo Sox take on the hated Braves. God I love baseball.
I would go on but I just have nothing more to say.
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