The cats will just be hunting things in the outfield or asleep in the sun and miss their at bats.
Pretty much like my outfielders.
"Hey kid! Game's over here!" I can't tell you how often my outfielders are watching the game on the other field.
'Same Time, Same Place'
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The cats will just be hunting things in the outfield or asleep in the sun and miss their at bats.
Pretty much like my outfielders.
"Hey kid! Game's over here!" I can't tell you how often my outfielders are watching the game on the other field.
I would be all in favor of watching the humans play baseball in a catlike fashion -- it'd make lousy baseball but great entertainment.
Swisher's rounding second, coming up on third, and... he trips over Scutaro, who was tackled in a surprise move by the opposing third baseman, who's now vigorously washing Scutaro's ears!
It's a simple pop fly headed right at Milton Bradley, who's sitting on his haunches in the outfield looking dreamily at absolutely nothing. The ball plops down right by his left foot. After a minute or two of staring blankly at the ball in mild surprise, Bradley goes batshit, springs to his feet, and tries to run frantically in nine directions at once. Then he falls asleep.
The ball somehow manages to leave closer Houston Street's hand, sailing over the head of the batter curled up snoring peacefully on home plate, and whizzing past Jason Kendall, who's writhing in ecstasy as the ump scratches behind his ears. The ball flumps to the ground some yards away, and Kendall promptly bites a chunk out of the ump's hand.
I don't think I could ever adore JZ more than I do at this moment.
MWAH!!!!!
Man, JZ, *that's* the kind of baseball game I could stand to watch!
I'm sorry, baseball people. I love you each and all to distraction. But baseball season most of your posts turn Othmaresque. To me, and me alone, you must understand. I power through them for the occasional info on cute things the kids said, wore, did, or whatever other information may be spliced between the wah-wah-wah. And I'd nevereverever deny any of you the joy and satisfaction you get from playing-coaching-watching baseball. But in the eternal words of sAnDi, "I don' geddit."
That's okay, I don't have to, as long as you do. You go, beisbol types!
Baseball is the One True Sport.
I'll probably be even scarcer around here. I'm about to leave for Nashville. I'm expecting to come back Monday, if everything is going okay with Mom.
All good thoughts for your mom and for you, Ginger. Also? For your drive.
Good thoughts to you and your mom, Ginger. Say hi to Nashvile for me.
I'lll be thinking of you and your mom, Ginger. Safe travels.
Safe travels, Ginger. May all go well in Nahsville.
I'm starting to recognize things in the baseball posts. Scary, huh? Of course, the connection is like "Keith Olbermann says (Baseball Guy) sucked his thumb till he was nineteen."(Which, as far as I know, I made up, right now, so don't google it.) Was Piazza the one that went into the burning building on the Simpsons?