This isn’t baby related so it will be a welcome detour for some of my more testosterone-prone readers.
I hate basketball. This is not an issue since most other people seem to ignore it except for a couple of weeks in late March. Now every Tom, Dick, and IT Guy are standing around the water cooler, suddenly transformed into expert analysts as they painstakingly fill out brackets based on extensive research or, more likely, alphabetical order. Luckily for me, Mr. Aggie realizes an actual sport looms on the horizon and is generally immune to the hype. I did find a bracket on the dining room table today, and I must admit I had a pang of “I hardly know you!” at the betrayal.
Because my TV has momentarily been hijacked by a Celtics game (that is almost over, thank goodness) I bring you an extensive diatribe about why I hate this “sport.” A more pointless athletic event I cannot imagine, save for perhaps the shot put. Ten guys run back and forth on a small court trying to get a ball through a hoop as many times as possible. It’s a game a monkey can understand with minimal explanation and no visuals. Not even a smart monkey; I’m talking about the dumb poop throwing variety.
But what irritates me most about the slighty-evolved track meet isn’t the simplicity, it’s the duration. When points are scored rapidly and few variables are present, there is no reason for any athletic contest to last sixty minutes. Unless it’s the Celtics vs. Special Olympics, every single game comes down to the last two minutes. Why can’t we just start there? Basketball is the Chinese water torture of sports.
Baseball–now that’s a real sport. It takes 22 guys to make it work (ok, you don’t have to count the guy out in left field, but you know what I mean). Entire games of basketball can be won by one out of ten guys (see: Kobe). Baseball takes an entire fleet of finely-tuned athletic specimens and a potentially overweight pitcher. Every pitch changes the game in some way; it’s a hitter’s count or a pitcher’s, baserunners are going or trying to fake you out. You don’t know how long the game will last and the better team can always lose.
There’s a whole other element to baseball that basketball lacks: the weather. No one’s ever going to lose a critical basketball game because of an influx of flying bugs. No one’s going to slide in mud or try to keep his pitching hand dry in the rain. That’s another thing that irritates me: basketball players don’t even get dirty. You shouldn’t get paid millions of dollars to play a sport in which you could just febreeze your uniform and wear it again the next day.
People who love baseball, who really love it, are scholars of the game. You can study it every day for decades and still not understand all the intricacies or know all the stats. Baseball is an art; basketball is fingerpainting day at preschool.
Dear Lord this game is in overtime. Shoot me now.