Baseball is a passion that bonds and divides all those who know it. Baseball is a pair of hands stained with newsprint, A set of eyes squinting to read a boxscore, A brow creased in an attempt to recreate a three-hour game From an inch square block of type. Baseball is the hat I wear to mow the lawn. Baseball is a simple game of catch and the never-ending search for the perfect knuckleball. Baseball is Willie vs Mickey, Gibson vs Koufax, and Buddy Biancalana vs the odds.
Baseball links Kansan and Missourian, American and Japanese, But most of all father and son.
With a worthless yet priceless foul ball. Baseball is a language of very simple words that tell unbelievably magic tales. Baseball is three brothers in the same uniform on the same team for one brief summer Captured forever in a black and white photo on a table by the couch. Baseball is a glove on a shelf, oiled and tightly wrapped, Slumbering through the stark winter months. Baseball is a breast pocket bulging with a transistor radio.