
Koko: Even if every other baseball game consisted solely of big men not running around a dirt track after not hitting tiny, quickly moving stitched balls as other, equally big men do not run toward or away from those same unhit balls in order to tag, or not, the men who aren't running around the dirt rhombus with oily leather gloves, well, nevermind. This catch alone proves that our ridiculous post-war tedium actually is art. Hushed, unthinkable, star-and-brain-exploding art. Guys, I take back everything I've ever said about baseball being whack-a-mole for big boys. Today, tomorrow, and till the tuna, shut my ignorant mouth.
1 comment:
i'd just like to take this opportunity to mention that i was at that game, front row centerfield. i almost missed the catch, though, since my proximity to jacoby's jarhead (high + tight) hindquarters meant that i didn't look around much during the game.
pixie, which one are you here?
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